I 


t!K 


i 


i 


Mestminster  Kbbc^ 
Sbe  Catbebtab  of  Englanb 


arrar,  Mllman,  ^tanle^ 


University  of  California 

Southern  Regional 

Library  Facility 


S:f;^0  theirs 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
0¥  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 
MRS.  ALFRED  W.  INGALLS 


"CXDlcstininstcr  Hbbc^ 


an& 


XEbe  Catbcferale  ot  England 


M 


2)can6  3farrai%  /Wbilman,  Stanley 


an^  otbcrs 


XiXIlitb  Dicvvs  ot  tbc  Catbebvals 
anb  K^ottraits  ot  tbc  2)ionitanc6 


lplbiIa^clpbia 
3obn  C.  Minston  &  Co. 

1895    l^^"^ 


EDITORS   PREFACE. 

1"^HE  large  number  of  books  that  have  been  published  describing  the  Cathedrals  of 
England  indicate  the  rich  and  varied  interest  iu  them,  both  religious  and  secular. 
This    general    interest    and    the    perfection    to  which    the  art  of  photography  has 
been  advanced,  in  making  views,  and  in  reproducing  them  for  the  purpose  of  illustra- 
tion, suggest  this  additional  book  picturing  these  monuments  of  the  past. 

In  the  history  of  these  cathedrals,  all  of  the  Anglican  race  are  interested,  for 
to  whatever  branch  of  the  Christian  Church  we  may  belong,  we  have  an  inherited 
claim  to  the  parentage  of  the  early  English  Church.  We  can  easily  understand  the 
pride  which  all  Englishmen  take  in  these  historic  possessions.  Each  summer  finds 
increasing  numbers  of  Americans  strolling  through  the  cool,  lofty  aisles  of  these 
cathedrals,  and  enjoying  the  peaceful  atmosphere  which  generally  pervades  English 
cathedral  towns.  Next  to  the  advantage — as  Dean  Stanley  says — of  seeing  the  place 
where  a  great  event  happened — the  picture,  statue,  and  tomb  of  an  illustrious  man — 
is  seeing  the  exact  reproduction  supplied  by  photographs.  A  full  collection  of  views 
takes  the  place,  to  a  great  extent,  of  a  visit  to  the  locality. 

The  cathedral  architecture,  full  of  Christian  signification,  grew  to  its  high  state 
of  perfection  from  the  religious  enthusiasm  of  devout  Christians,  in  the  rural  parts 
of  England,  during  her  primitive  state ;  and  many  centuries  after,  their  labours  still 
have  their  influence  in  centres  of  densely  populated  communities,  and  are,  to  the 
present  day,  the  best  models  of  our  church  architecture.  The  high  pointed  naves 
of  a  cathedral,  the  gracefully  shaped  mouldings  and  richly  flowered  detail  naturally 
suggest  the  high  vaulted  arches  aud  interlacing  limbs  and  foliage  of  our  great 
American  forests.  Architecture  in  our  country  was  developed  under  circumstances 
totally  different.  It  was  primarily  influenced  by  considerations  of  economy  and 
mercantile  interests ;  in  all  stages  of  advancement,  from  the  Western  settler,  covering 
his  log  cabin  with  the  tin  from  his  provision  cans,  to  the  fifteen-storied  office  buildings 
of  the  capitalist.  So  many,  who  are  not  students  of  architecture,  seem  to  regard 
mere  novelty  as  a  beauty,  that  attention  is  called  to  the  above  facts  for  the  consideration 
of  those  who  may  not  fully  appreciate  the  influence  surroundings  have  upon  those 
who  create  works  of  art. 

(3) 


4  Editor'' s  Preface. 

In  selecting  illustrations  for  this  work,  the  idea  has  been  to  give  as  complete 
a  collection  of  a  variety  of  subjects  as  possible,  rather  than  to  give  corresponding 
views  of  each  cathedral.  In  this  way  the  special  features  of  each  cathedral  can 
be  presented,  in  place  of  duplicating  several  very  similar  subjects.  Durham's 
massive  Norman  nave,  Salisbury's  uniform  nave  of  the  pointed  period,  with  West- 
minster's decorated  choir,  Canterbury's  choir  of  several  ages,  and  St.  Paul's  modern 
renaissance  interior,  are  sufficient  to  illustrate  the  general  effect  inside  of  all  the 
cathedrals.  For  this  reason  the  cathedrals  in  the  latter  part  of  the  book,  even 
though  the  text  does  not  refer  to  each  photograph,  have  been  more  fully  illustrated 
as  to  their  own  peculiar  beauties:  York's  vast  exterior  facade  and  rood  screen, 
Durham's  commanding  situation  and  ancient  castle,  Lincoln's  elevated  position,  noble 
towers  and  bishop's  palace,  Winchester's  reredos  and  picturesque  precincts,  Salisbury's 
spire,   cloister   and    chapter-house,  and    Chester's  richly  carved  stalls. 

The  text  used  in  the  descriptions  of  the  cathedrals  has  been,  in  several  cases, 
taken  from  exhaustive  writings  upon  the  subject,  but  in  collecting  a  condensed 
account  for  this  book  of  illustrations,  I  should  say,  in  deference  to  the  various 
distinguished  authors,  that  great  care  has  been  taken  to  eliminate  nothing  that  would 
detract  from  the  authors'  original  ideas.  On  the  contrary,  the  effort  has  been  to 
put    together   the   best   accounts   with    the    finest    illustrations. 

As  the  tomb  of  St.  Thomas  at  Canterbury  was  the  objective  point  of  so  many 
travelers  in  the  early  days,  both  pious  Saints  on  pilgrimages  and  casual  travelers 
giving  the  same  reason  for  an  excursion,  so  now  is  Westminster  Abbey  the  first 
object  in  England  to  which  a  large  majority  of  Americans  turn  their  faces.  They 
are  probably  more  familiar  with  the  history  of  this  church  than  with  the  history 
of  any  other  building  in  England.  Although  it  is  not  now  a  cathedral,  Westminster 
is  frequently  thought  of  as  such,  because  of  its  size  and  importance.  From  1540 
to  1550,  however,  a  bishop's  chair  was  erected  at  Westminster,  by  Henry  VIII. ,  making 
it  for  that  time  a  cathedral.  Revenues  were  sometimes  taken  by  the  King  from 
St.  Peter's  (Westminster  Abbey)  and  applied  to  St.  Paul's,  which  gave  rise  to  the 
saying,  "  Robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul."  Shakespeare  is  said  to  have  passed  the  night 
in  the  "Cathedral  of  Westminster"  while  preparing  the  grave-diggers'  scene  in 
Hamlet.  Westminster  was  centuries  ago  the  honored  place  of  burial,  and  it  still  so 
continues,  although  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller's  ambition  did  not  incline  him  toward  a 
tomb  there,  for,  said  he,  "  It  is  there  they  do  bury  fools."  Nelson,  before  his  last 
battle,  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  "  Victory,  or  Westminster  Abbey." 

Wm.  Ellis  Scull. 


CONTENTS, 


PAGS 


Westminstkr  Abbey ii 

By  the  Very  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  D.  D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury. 

St.  P.a.ul's  C.\thedral 6i 

By  the  Very  Rev.  H.  H.  Milman,  D.  D.,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 

Canterbury  Cathedrae 89 

By  the  Ver}-  Rev.  A.  P.  Stanley,  D.  D.,  Dean  of  Westminster. 

York  ]\Iixster 125 

By  Miss  Constance  .Anderson. 

Durham  Cathedral i43 

By  the  Rev.  Canon  Talbot,  M.  A.,  of  Durham. 

Lincoln  Cathedral •        .        .  •        •        •        163 

By  the  Rev.  Precentor  Venables,  M.  A.,  of  Lincoln. 

Winchester  Cathedral 183 

By  the  Very  Rev.  G.  W.  Kitchen,  D.  D.,  Dean  of  Winchester. 

Salisbury  Cathedral ^99 

By  the  Rev.  H.  T.  Arnifield,  F.  S.  A. 

Chester  Cathedral 209 

By  the  Very  Rev.  J.  S.  Howson,  D.  D.,  Dean  of  Chester. 


The  Dignit.aries 53'  ^^c. 

By  the  Rev.  L.  B.  Thomas,  D.  D.,  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  Philadelphia. 

(5) 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


WESTMINSTER : 

westminster  abbey 

Dean  Farrar  and  Bishop  Brooks    . 
Westminster  from  the  Hungerford  Bridge 
Monument  to  Shakespeare 
Shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor 
Westminster  Abbey  from  Dean's  Yard 

Henry  Vii's  Chapei. 

Entrance  to  Jerusalem  Chamber  . 

Cloister  Court 

Poets'  Corner — Historical  Side 
Choir  and  Confessor's  Chapel 

Altar  and  Ricrkdos 

Coronation  Chair,  with  Stone  of  Scone 
Roof  of  Hknkv  Vii's  Chapel    . 
Henry  VII's  Chapel — Si\-o>id  I'icu/    . 
Henry  VU's  Chapel — J'hird  View     . 
Monument  of  Jenny  Lind-Goldschmidt 
Tomb  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots 
Monument  to  William  Wilberforce 
Tomb  of  Lady  Elizabeth  Nightingale  . 
Tomb  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
East  Side  ok  North  Transept 

Isaac  Watts 

Epitaph  of  the  Weslevs    .... 
Dean  Stanley's  Altar-Tomb     . 

Poets'  Corner 

Monument  to  Charles  James  Fox  . 

DEAN  Stanley        

Dean  Farr.\r 

ST.  PAUL'S: 

St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
De.an  Milman  .... 

St.  Paul's  from  Waterloo  Bridge 
St.  Paul's  from  Fleet  Street 

West  Front 

The  Nave,  Looking  East  . 
St.  Paul's  from  Cheapside 
Temple  Bar    


Page 

lO 

II 

12 
13 
14 
16 
18 

19 

21 

24 
25 

27 
29 
30 
32 

35 
37 
3S 

39 
40 

42 
43 
45 
47 
48 

49 
51 
54 
57 

60 
61 
62 

63 
64 
66 
68 
69 


ch 


ST.  VKVL'S— Continued  : 

The  Choir 

The  Crypt 

Altar  and  Reredos 

Monument  to  Nelson 

Dean  Church 

Canon  Liddon 
CANTERBURY :    ' 

Canterbury  Cathedral 

St.  Martin's  Church    . 

Baptismal  Font,  St.  Martin's  Chur 

St.  Augustine's  Chair 

Cathedral  and  Bell  Harrv  Tower 

Transept  of  Martyrdom    . 

Norman  Baptistery 

To.mb  of  The  Black  Prince 

French  Chapel  in  the  Crypt  . 

Christ  Church  Gateway     . 

Becket's  Crown    .... 

Norman  Porch       .... 

Tomb  of  Archbishop  Tait  . 

The  Choir 

Archbishop  Tait    .... 

Archbishop  Benson 

YORK  : 

York  Minster 

York  from  the  Railway  Station    . 

The  Five  Sisters  ..... 

The  Choir  vScreen        .... 

Tinworth's  Terra-cotta  "Crucifixion 

The  Vestry 

York  Minster  from  the  Southeast 

North  Aisle  of  the  Choir 

.\rchbishop  Magee       .... 

Archbishop  Maclagan 
DURHAM : 

Durham  Cathedral  from  the  Wear 

Lindisfarne 

The  Dun  Cow 

(7) 


Page 

71 
74 
-6 

7S 
82 

S5 

88 
90 

91 
92 

95 

98 

100 

103 
104 
106 
109 
III 
112 
114 
118 
121 

124 
126 
127 
128 
129 

130 
132 

134 
136 
139 

142 

143 
144 


8 


List  of  Illitstralions. 


DVRHAU—Coti/inued:  Page 

Holy  Island  Fisherwomen        .        .        .        ■  '45 

The  Sanctuary  Knocker 146 

The  Nave 148 

The  Bishop's  Throne 150 

Cathedral  and  Castle  from  Railway  Station,  152 

The  Galilee  Chapel 153 

Bishop  Ughtfoot 156 

Bishop  Westcott 159 

LINCOLN : 

Lincoln  Cathedral  from  High  Street        .  162 

Bishop  Alexander's  Doorway  ....  164 

Lincoln  Cathedral  from  the  Northwest    .  167 

The  Imp  in  the  Angel  Choir    ....  169 

Ruins  of  the  Old  Palace 170 

The  New  Episcopal  Chapel      .                .        .  171 

Bishop  Wordsworth's  Monument     .        .        .  173 

Bishop  Wordsworth 176 

Bishop  King 179 

WINCHESTER : 

Winchester  Cathedral      ...                .  1S2 


WINCHESTER— Co«i'/«a^(^  .• 

The  Deanery' 

The  Great  Screen 

Chantries  in  South  Aisle  of  the  Choir 

The  Close  Gateway     . 

Ruins  of  the  Cloisters 

Bishop  Wilberforce   . 

Bishop  Thorold    . 


SALISBURY  : 

Salisbury'  Cathedral  . 

The  Cloister  Garth  . 

The  Cloisters, 

The  Nave,  Looking  East 

The  Chapter-House     . 

Sedalia  in  the  Chapter-House 

CHESTER : 

The  Choir,  Chester  Cathedral 

Mosaics 

Chester  Cathedral— North  Side 
Chester  Cathedral— West  End 
Bishop  Jay-ne         .... 


Page 

183 
185 
1S7 
188 
189 
192 
195 

198 
200 
202 
204 

205 
206 

20S 
209 
210 
211 
214 


\YESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 


SOIME  French  author— T  thinlc 
it  was  Voltaire — said  of  the 
English  that  "  they  amuse 
themselves  gloomily,  according  to 
the  fashion  of  their  nation."  So 
far  as  the  observation  is  true,  the 
gloom  conies  from  hurry.  There 
are  very  few  of  us  who  have  suffi- 
cient leisure  from  our  occupations. 
We  crowd  each  page  of  life  up 
to  the  ver}^  edges,  and  leave  no 
margin  for  beauty  and  convenience. 
It  is,  for  instance,  distressing  to 
see  the  aimless  and  listless  way  in 
which  multitudes  of  wear}^  sight- 
seers wander  through  the  en- 
chanted rooms  of  the  National 
Gallery.  This  is  not  their  fault. 
It  is  no  doubt  mainly  due  to  a 
lack  of  all  training  in  the  objects, 
the  principles,  the  history  of  art. 
But  it  is  also  due  to  the  fact  that  so 
many  of  them  regard  the  National 
Gallery  as  a  thing  to  be  "  done," 

so  that  when  they  are  asked,  "  Have  you  seen  the  National  Gallery  ?  "    they  can    say 

"Yes." 

I    am    often    distressed   to    see  how    less    than   nothing    is   the   amount    of    real 

pleasure   and    advantage    gained   by   multitudes    of  those  who    stroll    about    the    Abbey 

in  hundreds    day  after   day,  not  knowing  at  what   they  ought    to    look,   or   what    they 

(II) 


DEAN    FARRAR    AND    BISHOP   BROOKS. 


12 


Westminster  Abbey. 


ought  to  see  in  it,  or  what  is  to  be  gained  from  seeing  it.  I  once  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  conducting  the  genial  American  poet,  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  round  the 
Abbey  for  two  hours,  and  when  I  left  him  he  told  me  that  he  should  always 
recollect  those  two  hours  spent  there  as  among  the  most  memorable  in  his  life. 
But  "the  eye  can  only  see  what  it  brings  with  it  the  power  of  seeing."  The  out- 
ward impressions  are  as  meaningless  without  the  inward  susceptibility,  as  colours 
to  the  blind  or  melodies  to  the  deaf  To  those  who  have  neither  eyes  to  see,  nor 
knowledge  to  understand,   nor    sensibility  to  enjoy,  a   visit  to    the    Abbey  is    too   often 


WESTMINSTER   FROM   THE   HUNGERFORD   BRIDGE. 


a  blank  of  dullness  and  disappointment.  But  what  such  a  visit  might  be  to  a  man 
of  universal  knowledge,  unlimited  interest,  and  complete  sympathy,  no  one  can 
understand ;  for  no  single  person  possesses  or  can  possess  the  consummate  culture 
which  would  be  requisite  for  the  reception  of  such  full  impressions. 

Let    me    try  to    catalogue  some  of  the  varied    regions  of  delight    and   interest. 

First,  there  is  the  religious  symbolism  of  the  building.  Its  structure  is  by 
no  means  accidental.  Down  to  the  minutest  particulars  it  is  "  a  theology  in  stone." 
Its  prevalent  number  is  three — triple  height,  triple  length,  triple  breadth — to  remind 
us    of  the   doctrine   of    the   Trinity.      Its    other   predominant    numbers    are   four — the 


Westminster  Abbey. 


13 


number  of  earthly  perfectness,  the  signature  of  the  world,  and  of  divine  revelation  ; 
and  seven — the  signature  of  the  covenant,  and  of  the  seven  spirits  of  God,  and  of 
the  seven  pillars  of  the  House  of  Wisdom.  Its  structure  is  cruciform,  to  remind  us 
of  the  Atonement.  Even  the  geometrical  designs  which  lie  at  the  base  of  its  ground  plan 
are  combinations  of  the  triangle,  the  circle,  and  the  oval — the  s3'mbols  of  the  Trinity, 
of  eternity,  and  of  the  saintly 
aureole. 

Then  there  is  the  sci- 
entific and  architectural  in- 
terest. To  the  intelligent 
architect  the  Abbey,  with  all 
its  exquisite  proportions,  be- 
comes a  sort  of  epic  in  stone. 
He  tooks  with  delight  on  all 
the  details  of  its  ornamenta- 
tion ;  he  easily  observes  where 
the  work  of  Edward  I.  joins 
on  to  that  of  Henry  IH., 
and  that  of  Richard  H.  to 
that  of  Edward  I.,  and  that  of 
Henrj^  V.  to  that  of  Richard 
II.  ;  and  he  sees  at  once  that 
the  great  Perpendicular  west 
window  belongs  to  the  age 
of  Henry  VII.,  and  the  days 
of  Abbot  Islip.  He  looks 
with  delight  on  the  minute 
varying  details  of  arch  and 
moulding,  and  window  tracery, 
and  wall-surface  decoration, 
and  he  traces  in  these  varia- 
tions the  character  and 
tendencies    of    the     ages     to 

which  they  belong.  I  once  went  over  the  whole  Abbey  with  the  late  vSir  Gilbert 
Scott,  and  he  had  fifty  things  to  point  out  which  no  ordinary  observer  would 
have  thought  of  noticing.  To  enter  fully  into  them  we  should  require  the 
training    and   insight   of    such    a    man    as    he,    or   as    Sir   Christopher   Wren,    or    Mr. 

Ruskin. 

Then,    thirdly,    there    is    the  poetic    and    emotioual    sentiment.     To    realise    that 


BIONUMENT  TO  SH.\KESPEARE. 


14 


Westminster  Abbey. 


adequately   we    must    have   the    miud  and  emotions   of   the  poet,    such  as    Wordsworth, 
when  he  says  in  his  famous  sonnet, — 

"  They  dreamt  not  of  a  perishable  home 
Who  thus  could  build  !    Be  mine,  in  hours  of  fear 
Or  grovelling  thought,  to  seek  a  refuge  here. 
Or  through  the  aisles  of  Westminster  to  roam ; 
Where  bubbles  burst,  aud  folly's  dancing  foam 
Melts,  if  it  cross  the  threshold  ;  where  the  wreath 
Of  awe-struck  wisdom  droops." 

To  enter  into  this  we  should  require  to  feel  as  a  Shakespeare  or  a  Wilton  felt. 

But,  fourthly,  a  great 
sculptor  might  again  be  chiefl}^ 
interested  by  the  artistic  crea- 
tions which  meet  him  on  every 
side. 

Then,  again,  how  much 
should  we  gain  at  every  step  and 
(-•very  turn  by  a  thorough  and 
masterly  knowledge  of  History  ! 
How  delightful  an  appreciation 
f  this  inexhaustible  source  of 
interest  is  shown  b}^  every 
allusion  to  the  Abbey  in  the 
pages  of  Lord  Macaulay !  It  was 
while  he  was  standing  under  the 
bust  of  Warren  Hastings  that 
Dean  Milman  suggested  to  him 
the  idea  of  his  splendid  essaj'- 
on  the  great  Proconsul :  and  his 
allusion  to  the  efi&gy  of  Chat- 
ham is  one  of  the  best-known 
passages  in  his  works.  When 
we  tread  the  pavement  of  the 
Abbey,  not  onh'  is  ever}'  step  we 
take  on  \\o\y  ground,  but  also 
on  classic  ground.  Here  stood 
Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  aud  Marlowe  when  they  flung  their  pens  and  their  verses 
upon  the  coffin  of  Spenser.  Here  Samuel  Johnson  leant  in  tears  at  the  funeral  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith;  here  sat  Charles  I.,  all  in  ill-omened  white  satin,  at  his  coronation; 
here  little  Prince  Alfonso,  son  of  Edward  I.,  hung  over  the  tomb  of  the  Confessor  the 


SHRINE   OK   EDWARD   THE    CONEESSOR. 


Westminster  Abbey.  17 

golden  coronet  of  Llewellyn,  Prince  of  Wales;  here  stood  Henry  VI.,  half-dazed,  and 
marked  for  liis  grave  the  place  where  he  was  never  destined  to  lie ;  here  sat  Queen 
Victoria  on  the  day  of  her  Jubilee.  Who  could  enter  into  even  half  of  such  associations 
unless  he  had  some  of  the  knowledge  of  a  Freeman  or  a  Washington  Irving  ? 

Again,  an  antiquarian  would  iiud  much  to  observe  with  pleasure  which  another 
man  would  pass  over  from  want  of  knowledge. 

And  not  to  multiply  too  many  illustrations,  if  a  man  be  endowed  with 
nothing  more  than  the  "  picturesque  sensibility "  which  was  one  of  the  charming 
characteristics  of  Dean  Stanley,  how  much  more  vivid  will  be  all  his  varied  im- 
pressions, and  how  inexhaustible  will  be  the  power  and  the  keenness  of  his  in- 
terest !  Dean  Stanley,  as  I  can  testify  from  personal  knowledge,  seemed  to  find 
fresh    delight    and    fresh    instruction    in    the   Abbey    every    day. 

Now  if  a  man  takes  with  him  but  one  of  these  elements  of  insight,  knowl- 
edge, and  S3'mpathy,  he  gains  much ;  but  what  would  be  his  gain  if  he  combined 
them  all  ?  Imagine  a  man  who  could  visit  the  Abbe}^  with  the  united  gifts  and 
feelings  of  a  Wren,  a  Newman,  a  Wordsworth,  a  Scott,  a  Macaulay,  a  Flaxman,  a 
Camden,  a  Stanley  I  Thousands  of  visitors  carry  with  them  from  the  Abbey  little 
beyond  the  impression  that  it  is  a  dull  and  dingy  place,  full  of  ugly  tombs,  of 
which  many  are  to  unknown  or  forgotten  personages.  Such  visitors  lose  every- 
thing: but  nearly  every  visitor  loses  something  and  even  much.  Our  aim  should 
be,  even    if  we  lose   much,   to  gain  at  least  something  definite. 

Multitudes  are  puzzled  by  the  fact  that  a  parish  church  should  stand  so 
close  beside  the  stately  x\bbey,  which  dwarfs  into  insignificance  its  smaller,  yet 
not  insignificant,  proportions.  We  are  often  told  that  the  mediaeval  builders,  in 
almost  every  cathedral  city,  delighted  to  erect  smaller  churches  beside  the  huge 
masses  of  these  minsters,  to  serve  as  a  scale  whereby  to  measure  the  size  of  the 
larger  edifices.  Certainl}'  the  result  is  effective.  The  would-be  lovers  of  the 
picturesque  who  glibly  talk  about  pulling  down  St.  Margaret's  to  improve  the  view 
of  the  Abbey,  talk  ignorant  nonsense.  Many  years  ago  a  Government  Committee, 
following  all  the  best  artistic  advice  of  the  age,  decided  that  the  aspect  of  the 
Abbey  is  in  every  sense  improved  by  the  vicinity  of  the  smaller  building.  The 
frontispiece  may  help  to  show  that,  as  Mr.  Augustus  Hare  saj-s,  "  the  outline  of  the 
Abbey  is  beautifully  varied  and  broken  by  St.  Margaret's  Church,  which  is  not 
only  deeply  interesting  in  itself,  but  is  invaluable  as  presenting  the  greater  edi- 
fice alongside  it  in  its  true  proportions." 

But  the  church  was  originally  built — as  far  back,  certainly,  as  the  days  of 
the  Confessor,  and,  perhaps  even  earlier — for  the  worship  of  the  population.  The 
Abbey  was  not  intended  for  parochial  services.  Its  choir  was  the  daily  chapel  of 
the     Benedictine    monks.      Its    nave    was  not    a    place    for    worship,  but    was   set    apart 


i8 


IJ^csivi/jistcr  Abbey. 


for    great   national    and  ecclesiastical    processions.      St.  IVIargaret's  is  the  most  ancient, 
and    was    at    one    time   the   only,  church  west    of  Temple    Bar. 

Let  us  pause  before  the  exterior  of  the  east  end  of  Henry  VII. 's  Chapel, 
with  the  end  of  the  south  transept,  one  of  the  flying  buttresses,  and  a  corner 
of  the  Chapter  House,  projecting  behind  the  private  house  of  one  of  the  IMinor 
Canons.  The  name,  "  Henry  VII.'s  Chapel,"  has  entirely  superseded  the  name  of 
"  Lady  Chapel."  In  mediaeval  minsters  the  chapel  at  the  east  end  was  invariably 
dedicated  to  the  Virgin  IMar}-,  who  was  commonly  referred  to  as  "  Our  Lady." 
The    position   of    the    chapel,     in    the     symbolism    which    ran    through    the    minutest 


Chapter -House. 


North  Transept, 


HENRY  VII.'S   CH.\PEL. 


details  of  these  sacred  buildings,  was  meant  to  indicate  the  Virgin  standing  beside 
the  Cross,  during  the  Crucifixion.  But  just  as  the  gorgeous  chapel  at  Windsor 
was  known  as  "  Wolsey's,"  and  now  as  the  "  Prince  Consort's  Chapel,"  so  the 
splendid  and  lavish  expenditure  of  the  first  Tudor  king  on  this  memorial,  in- 
tended to  enshrine  his  tomb,  has  connected  it  permanently  with  his  name.  It  is 
perhaps  the  loveliest  specimen  of  richly  decorated  Perpendicular  architecture  in  the 
world.  The  reader  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  exquisitely  delicate  lace-work  of  its 
ornamentation.  It  still  retains  its  charm  in  spite  of  the  deadly  fumes  which  we 
suffer    to    be    poured    in    volumes    into    the    air   of    London    from    the    neighbouring 


Westminster  Abbey. 


19 


potteries  and  other  works ;  but  when  it  came  fresh  from  the  sculptor's  hands,  and 
before  it  was  densely  begrimed  by  the  ever-accumulating  soot  of  centuries,  it 
must  have  been  a  vision  of  perfect  beauty.  This  scene  is  called  "  Poets'  Corner," 
because  it  leads  to  the  entrance  into  the  south  transept,  where  the  poets  lie  buried. 
Just  as  the  remains  of  the  sainted  Confessor  attracted  round  them  the  dust  of 
so  many  kings  and  queens,  so  the  grave  of  Chaucer  acted  as  a  magnet  to  draw 
into   its    neighbourhood   the   memorials  of  Drayton,  Ben  Jonson,  Spenser,  Shakespeare, 


ENTRANCE   TO  JERUSALEM    CHAMBER. 


IMilton,    Graj^,    Addison,    and    many     more,    including     the     great     Victorians,    Robert 
Browning   and    Alfred    Tenn3-son. 

The  Chapter  House  is  visited  b}'  comparatively  few  of  the  myriads  who  come 
to  the  Abbey ;  but  those  who  know  what  to  look  for  may  well  linger  for  some 
time  in  this  deeply  interesting  building.  The  splendor  and  loveliness  of  the  en- 
trance to  it  show  the  important  place  which  it  held  in  the  general  estimation. 
The  stones  under  the  left  arcade  of  the  vestibule  are  still  deeply  worn  by  the 
feet    of    generations    of  monks,  as    they  walked    two    and    two    to    their   weekly   assem- 


20  Westminster  Abbey. 

blies.     The   vaulting   and    its    bosses    are   quaint    aud    rich.     The   quaint   entrance   door 
itself,  bleared  aud  ruined  as  it  now  is,  was  once  rich  with  gold  and  scarlet. 

Entering  the  Chapter  House,  we  see  at  a  glance  an  octagon  of  the  noblest 
proportions,  of  which  the  roof  is  supported  b}'  a  slender  and  graceful  pillar  of 
polished  Purbeck,  thirty-five  feet  high,  "  surrounded  by  eight  subordinate  shafts, 
attached  to  it  by  three  moulded  bands."  The  painted  windows  were  placed  there 
as  a  memorial  to  Dean  Stanley.  One  was  given  by  the  Queen,  and  one  by 
Americans.  In  the  central  light,  at  the  summit  of  each,  is  represented  the  greatest 
man  of  each  century — the  Venerable  Bede,  St.  Anselm,  Roger  Bacon,  Chaucer, 
Caxton,  and  Shakespeare.  In  the  window  over  the  door  is  Queen  Victoria.  The 
central  band  of  the  windows  represents  man}'  of  the  great  historical  events  connected 
with  the  Abbey. 

When  the  visitor  stands  in  this  glorious  Chapter  House,  he  stands  on  the 
spot  round  which  centre  some  of  the  most  important  events  in  English  history. 
The  scenes  here  enacted  may  have  been  sufficiently  exciting  for  the  monks,  when 
they  confessed  their  sins  to  one  another,  or  were  accused  and  judged,  and  scourged 
in  the  sight  of  the  communit}'  before  that  central  pillar.  But  how  far  more  mem- 
orable was  the  assembly  when  the  Chapter  House  was  set  apart,  before  1340,  for 
the  separate  use  of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  Speaker  sat  in  the  abbot's  seat. 
Under  this  roof  were  passed  such  far-reaching  Acts  as  the  Statute  of  Provisors 
(1350)  and  the  Statute  of  Pitemmiire.,  which  "  pared  the  Pope's  nails  to  the 
quick,  and  then  cut  his  fingers."  Here  Wolsey  held  his  court  as  Cardinal 
Legate.  Here  the  martyrs,  Bilney  and  Barnes,  were  tried  and  sentenced  to  be 
burnt  for  their  Protestant  opinions.  Here  were  passed  the  Act  of  Supremac}'  and 
the  Act  of  Submission ;  and  before  that  slender  pillar  was  laid  the  Black  Book  of 
damning  evidence  against  the  monasteries,  which  led  to  their  dissohition,  and 
roused  a  cry  of  indignation  from  the  listening  senators.  And  here  the  House  of 
Commons  continued  to  sit  till  the  last  day  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  In  1547, 
the  first  year  of  Edward  VI.,  the  Chapel  of  St.  Stephen,  in  the  Palace  of  West- 
minster, was  prepared  for  the  use  of  the  Lower  House,  and  the  Chapter  House, 
though  it  was  no  longer  used  for  their  debates,  was  still  regarded  as  public 
property,  and  was  turned  into  the  Record  Office,  in  which,  for  three  centuries 
more,  were  kept  Doomsda}^  Book  and  all  the  other  precious  documents  of  the 
Kingdom.  In  1S65  it  was  happily  restored  from  its  condition  of  neglect  and  de- 
facement   by   Sir  Gilbert   Scott. 

We  now  pass  into  the  south  cloister — tlie  one  which  is  in  a  line  with  the 
entrance  from  Dean's  Yard.  This  southern  walk  was  the  place  in  which,  under 
tbe  supervision  of  the  "  spies  of  the  cloister,"  the  Benedictine  monks  passed  the 
greater    part    of   the  day — all    that   was    not  set  apart    for  worship,  labour,  sleep,    and 


IVcstuinistcr  Abbey.  23 

meals.  Here,  for  centuries,  they  might  have  beeu  seen  in  their  long  black  tunics, 
with  large-sleeved,  black,  upper  frocks,  and  split  cowls  with  pointed  ends.  Here 
they  were  shaved  once  a  fortnight,  and  bled  once  a  month.  As  he  walks  down 
the  cloister  let  the  visitor  notice  the  ancient  lockers  which  once  contained  the 
towels  of  the  monks ;  the  gravestone  of  the  little  nephews  and  nieces  of  John 
Wesley ;  the  large  flagstone  ("  Long  Meg ")  under  which  lie  the  bodies  of  twenty- 
six  monks,  who,  with  their  abbot,  Byrchestou,  were  swept  away  by  the  disastrous 
plague  of   1348. 

The  West  Walk — now  so  familiar  to  the  scholars  of  Westminster  School, 
who  stand  along  it  on  Sundays,  in  their  white  surplices,  to  await  and  salute  the 
Canon  and  Master  as  they  enter  the  Abbey — was  also  built  by  Abbot  Littlington, 
and  was  in  old  days  the  novices'  school.  For  many  a  long  year  has  it  resounded 
with  the  murmurs  of  the  boys  as  they  sat  conning  their  lessons,  and  sometimes, 
perhaps,  with  their  cries,  as  they  received  the  rough  corporal  punishment  of  past 
times.  Their  books  were  kept  in  two  aumbreys,  now  obliterated  by  a  square, 
hideous,  pretentious  tomb,  erected  to  I  know  nt)t  whom.  The  holes  which  may  still 
be  seen  here  and  there  in  tlie  stone  bench,  sometimes  arranged  in  nines,  are  a 
relic  of  the  games  at  "  lowckiiigs  in  and  out^^  played  by  those  boys  of  so  many 
centuries  ago.  The  building  over  the  cloister  is  part  of  the  modern  Deanery, 
which  was  the  palace  of  the  former  abbots.  The  green  garth  was  pleasant  to  the 
ej'es  of  the  monks.  It  used,  no  doubt,  to  be  bright  with  flowers,  and  sometimes  a 
tame  stork,  or  other  domestic  pet  of  the  monastery,  might  have  been  seen  wandering 
there.  But,  also,  an  open  grave  was  always  visible  in  the  green  space,  and  in  that 
open  grave  each  monk  knew  tliat  his  body  would  be  placed  if  he  happened  to  be 
tlie  first  to  die.  It  was  a  perpetual  memento  mori  to  wean  their  thoughts  from  the 
worldliness  which  could  penetrate  too  fatally  even  into  the  cloister  precincts. 

In  a  walk  round  the  cloisters,  the  visitor  may  gain  a  notion  of  the 
whole  life  of  a  Benedictine  monk  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Passing  through 
Dean's  Yard,  he  is  in  the  Sanctuary  precincts,  which  contained  their  granary, 
mill,  calberge,  and  guest-house.  Entering  the  cloister  he  passes  through  the 
reception-parlour,  where  they  met  their  relatives  and  visitors.  Then  he  must 
imagine  that  the  west  cloister,  to  his  left,  is  full  of  boys,  who  fill  it  with  the 
busy  murmur  of  their  voices  as  they  study  under  the  stern  rule  of  the  master 
of  the  novices,  though  their  eyes  often  wander  to  the  petulant  tame  stork  which  is 
so  fond  of  coming  up  to  them  for  food  and  caresses.  The  cloister  before  him 
still  contains  the  stone  "  lockers  "  where  the  monks  kept  their  towels,  close  by 
the  adjoining  lavatory.  Up  and  down  this  cloister  walked  its  appointed  guardian, 
who  saw  tliat  the  monks  were  silent  and  employed.  Behind  tliis  wall  ran  their 
vast    refectory,    of    which    the  windows,   now    filled    up,    may  be    seen    from    the    oppo- 


24 


Westminster  Abhev. 


site  side  of  tlie  garth  above  the  cloister  leads.  In  the  green  garth  sleep  gener- 
ations of  monks  who  have  passed  away  and  been  forgotten.  In  the  east  cloister 
are  the  entrances  to  the  dortnre  and  the  Chapter  House,  and  the  part  reserved 
for  the  lord  abbot's  Maundy  service.  The  quadrangle  is  completed  by  the  Scrip- 
torium, full  of  monks  diligently  engaged  in  reading  or  in  copying  and  illuminat- 
ing manuscripts.  The  beautiful  door  at  the  end  of  the  west  cloister  opened  into 
the  Abbey,  and  through  it  they  often  wended  their  way  with  solemn  litanies.  By 
the    east    door   they  usually  entered    for    their    seven    dail}'  and  nightly  services. 


POETS'    CORNER— HISTORICAL   SIDE. 

We  now  leave  the  cloisters,  and  enter  the  Abbey  itself.  Before  us  is  the 
choir,  the  east  end,  with  the  sacran'iim,  or  space  in  which  stood  the  high  altar. 
This  was  regarded  as  the  most  sacred  part  of  the  church.  The  choir  was  set 
apart  for  the  daily  seven  services  of  the  monks,  which  took  place  every  three 
hours — lauds,  prime,  tierce,  sext,  nones,  vespers,  and  compline.  Only  "  the  relig- 
ious "  were  as  a  rule  present  in  the  choir.  The  front  of  the  reredos,  richly 
ornamented  with  statues,  mosaic,  and  gems,  is  modern.  The  aspect  of  the  choir, 
when  it  is  filled  with  one  of  the  great  Sunday  congregations,  and  all  the  clergy 
and  the  choir  and  the  Westminster  boys  are  there  in  their  white  surplices,  is 
impressively  beautiful. 


Cllum   AND   CONFESSORS   CHAPEL-HE.NRY   V.'S   CHANTRY   IJ 


N   THE   BACKGROUND. 


Wcsfviinslrr  Abbey. 


2^ 


And  here  I  may  refer  to  a  fact  which  has  always  caused  me  surprise.  It  is 
that  Westminster  Abbey  is  scarcely  ever  the  recipient  of  any  voluntary  offering. 
One  such  gift  was  spontaneously  offered  it  more  than  twenty  years  ago.  With  a 
munificence  and  public  spirit  which  is  only  too  rare,  Mr.  G.  W.  Childs,  of 
Philadelphia,  presented  a  fine  stained-glass  window  to  the  Abbey  in  memory  of 
the  two  religious  poets,  George  Herbert  and  William  Cowper ;  as  he  also  pre- 
sented a  memorial  fountain,  in  honour  of  Shakespeare,  to  the  town  of  Stratford- 
ou-Avon,  and  a  window  to  St.  Margaret's  Church  in  memory  of  Milton.  But 
with    the    exception   of    this   one   spontaneous    gift,    nothing   has    been    offered    to    tlie 


ALTAR   AND    REREDOS. 

Abbey,  so  far  as  T  am  aware,  either  in  living  memory  or  for  many  previous 
years.  In  old  davs,  indeed,  the  Abbey  was  verj'  wealth}' ;  but  its  immense 
revenues  passed  long  ago  into  the  hands  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Commissioners. 
It  now  possesses  not  a  single  acre  of  estates,  and  the  annual  sum  devoted  to 
its  maintenance  is  so  inadequate,  that  it  has  already  been  necessary  to  suppress 
one  of  its  canonries  in  order  to  provide  funds  to  prevent  its  actual  fabric  from 
crumbling  to  pieces.  Barely  able  to  maintain  its  daily  staff,  choir,  and  services, 
the  Dean  and  Chapter  are  totally  unable  to  provide  additions  to  its  splendour 
and    beauty.        Tens    of  thousands    of    pilgrims     yearly    visit    it;     the    whole    English- 


28  Wcstvu'nstcr  Abbey. 

speaking  race  expresses  love  and  veneration  for  it  as  the  shrine  of  all  onr  great 
historic  memories.  Yet  no  one  does  anything  to  immortalise  himself  by  its 
adornment,  and  during  so  long  a  time  it  has  received  but  one  voluntary  offer- 
insr,    and   that    from    an    American! 

We  pass  from  the  choir  into  the  Chapel  of  the  Confessor.  The  shrine 
of  the  founder,  or  patron  saint,  is  frequently  placed  behind  the  sacrarium,  as  at 
St.  Albans  and  at  St.  Thomas  Cantelupe  at  Hereford.  This  shrine  was  the 
splendid  work  of  an  Italian  artist,  Peter  of  Rome,  whom  Henry  HI.  emploj'ed 
in  the  lack  of  English  artists  of  sufficient  skill.  Originally  it  blazed  with  colour, 
gilding,  and  mosaic,  but  it  shows  the  defacing  ravages  of  time  during  the 
six  centuries  which  have  passed  since  it  was  erected.  It  consists  of  three  parts : 
(i.)  The  fcretrnm,  or  basement  of  stone,  with  arcaded  recesses  in  which  pilgrims 
might  sit  who  were  afflicted  with  diseases  which  they  desired  to  cure  by  thrust- 
ing themselves  as  close  as  possible  to  the  saintly  relics.  One  of  the  stones  at 
the  north  end  of  the  shrine  is  hollowed  out  by  the  knees  of  innumerable  pil- 
grims. (2.)  The  theca,  loculns,  or  upper  chest,  which  contains  the  body  of  the 
saint.  (3.)  The  co-operforiuvi,  cover,  or  lid,  which  might  be  lifted  off  to  exhibit 
the  coffin.  The  present  cover  is  the  only  trace  left  in  the  Abbey  by  Fecken- 
ham,  its  last  abbot ;  the  only  addition  made  to  the  ornamentation  of  the  Abbey 
in  the  reign  of  Mary  Tudor.  It  was  once  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  and 
looked  sufficiently  gorgeous,  but,  being  of  poor  material,  was  probably  only  in- 
tended to    be    temporary. 

The  floor  of  the  chapel  was  once  inlaid  in  rich  mosaic,  which  may  still  be 
partly  seen  on  the  space  where  now  stands  the  coronation  chair.  It  has  been 
mostly  worn  away  by  the  hurrying  feet  of  generations.  A  lovely  fragment  of 
it,  of  a  sort  of  tartan  pattern,  once  adorned  the  grave  of  little  Prince  Alfonso, 
son  of  Edward  I.,  who,  on  August  19,  12S4,  hung  over  the  shrine  the  golden 
circlet  of  Llewellyn,  Prince  of  Wales.  It  may  be  seen  by  uplifting  the  step 
under  the   chantry  of  Henr}'  V. 

It  was  the  presence  of  the  saintly  Confessor  and  the  desire  to  rest  near  his 
bones,  which  gathered  into  tlie  little  chapel  the  remains  of  Henry  III.,  Edward  I., 
Edward  III.,  Richard  II.,  Henry  V.,  and  of  the  Queen  Edith,  daughter  of  Earl 
Godwin,  good  Queen  Maud,  Eleanor  of  Castile,  Philippa  of  Hainault,  Anne  of 
Bohemia,  Katherine  of  Valois,  and  of  many  princes  and  princesses,  including  the 
once  highly-honoured  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  whose  treacherous  murder  is  a  serious 
blot  on   the  character  of  his  nephew,   Richard   II. 

The  tombs  on  the  south  are  those  of  Edward  I.  and  his  queen.  The 
chantry  at  the  end  is  that  of  Henry  V.,  the  most  splendid  monument  in 
the    Abbey.       Under   it    is     the    warped     and     ruined    effigy    of    heart    of    oak,    which 


Wcshniuslcr  Abb 


iry. 


29 


the  passionate  affection  of  the  luitioii  ])hiced  over  the  bones  of  its  hero-king. 
Originally  it  was  plated  with  silver,  and  had  a  head  and  regalia  of  silver,  all  of 
which  had  been  stolen  before  the  end  of  Henry  VIII. 's  reign.  The  chantr)-  was 
built  for  the  use  of  monks,  who  were  to  sing  masses  for  the  king's  soul  ;  and 
here,  a  few  years  ago,  after  curious  and  romantic  fortunes,  were  re-buried  the  re- 
mains of  the  hero's  queen,  Katherine,  daughter  of  Charles  VI.  of  France.  On  the 
beam  above  are  the  helmet,  shield,  and  saddlebow  used  by  Henry  V.  at  the  battle 
of  Agiucourt.  Sucli  is  the  tradition  of  _ 
the  Abbey;  but  antiquarians  assert  that  B^iiH' 
this  is  a  mere  tilting  helmet  carried 
before  the  bier  at  the  King's  funeral, 
and  not  what  Shakespeare  calls 

" the  helm 

Which  did  afFri^ht  the  air  at  A,L;iiicc)urt." 

The  massive  and  artistic  iron  gate  was 
the  work  of  a  London  smith  in  the  ninth 
year  of  Henry  VI. 

We  now  pass  into  the  south 
ambulatory.  The  word  ambulatory  is 
applied  to  the  walks  on  either  side  of 
the  choir  and  round  the  chapel  of  the 
Confessor.  The  tomb  at  the  left  is  that 
of  the  great  Plantagenet,  Edward  III. 
Its  canopy  is  "  of  carved  wood,  with 
imitation  vaulting,  pinnacles,  and  but- 
tresses." 

In  the  north  ambulatory  are  the 
tombs  of  Edward  I.  and  Henry  III. 
The  tomb  of  Edward  I.  was  always  a 
very  plain  one ;  perhaps  because  he  had 
ordered  his  son  to  carry  his  bones  at 
the  head  of  the  army  till  Scotland  was 
subdued.  The  tomb  never  had  niche,  or  enamel,  or  colour,  or  effigy,  but  it  was  once 
covered  with  a  painted  canopy  and  protected  by  a  iine  piece  of  ironwork.  These  have 
disappeared,  as  well  as  the  embroidered  pall  which  probably  once  covered  the  unadorned 
monument  of  this  warrior  king. 

The  pictures  on  pages  32  and  35  show  us  the  chapel  raised  for  the  reception  of 
the  Tudor  king,  Henry  VII.  Here  stood  the  old  Lad}-  Chapel  dedicated  to  the 
Virgin,  which  Henry  destroyed  in  order  to  replace  it    by  this    sumptuous    and    lovely 


CORONATION   CHAIR,    WITH    STONE   OF   .SCONK. 


30 


Westminster  Abbey. 


building.  Everything  in  this  chapel  is  worthy  of  careful  study.  The  bronze  gates, 
once  shining,  now  dim,  are  not  only  an  exquisite  specimen  of  a  rare  kind  of  work, 
but  also  illustrate  the  quiet  yet  intense  determination  of  Henry  VII.  to  put  into 
the  forefront  every  possible  indication  of  his  claims  to  the  crown  of  England. 
The  gate  is  ingeniously  adorned  with  the  falcon  and  fetterlock  of  the  House  of 
York;  with  the  portcullis  of  the  House  of  Lancaster;  with  a  double  Tudor  rose; 
with  the  interwoven  letters  H.  R. ;  with  crowns  surmounted  by  daisies,  in  allusion 
to  the  name  of  his  mother,  Margaret  of  Richmond;  and  besides  all  this,  it  is 
here  and  there  decorated  with  a  dragon,  which  is  meant  for  the  Red  Dragon  of 
Cadwallader,  and  was  designed  to  hint  that  Henry's  claim  was  strengthened  by 
his  supposed    descent    from    that    British  king.       Henry's    ancestor,  Owen    Tudor,  was 


ROur   OF   HENRY   VII. 'S   CHAl'hlv. 


pronounced  by  a  Welsh  commission  of  inquiry  to  be  an  undoubted  lineal  descend- 
ant of  Brute,  the  Trojan,  and  of  ^neas  himself — a  genealogy  of  forty-seven  de- 
grees, which  they  claim  to  have  incontestably  proved,  and  in  which  there  was  only 
one  female !  The  fan  tracery  of  the  self-poised  roof,  which  is  also  to  be  found 
at  St.  George's,  Windsor,  and  in  King's  College  Chapel,  Cambridge,  is  never  found 
in   Continental    architecture,  but   is    the    peculiar   glory  of  the    English    style. 

The  choir  stalls  and  Miserere  seats  are  exquisitely  and  elaborately  carved, 
but  with  designs  which  are  sometimes  grotesque  and  satirical.  The  niches  which 
run  round  the  walls  once  contained  one  hundred  and  seven  stone  figures,  of  which 
ninety-five  remain.  All  these  figures,  except  those  of  some  philosophers,  in  the 
south-east    bays,    have    been    identified    by     the     antiquarian    knowledge    and   research 


HENRV  xii's  CHAPEI,. 


Westminster  Abbey.  33 

of  Mr.  Micklethwaite.  Some  of  them  are  exceedingly  curious.  One  is  to  a  saint 
who  has  been  for  ages  forgotten.  It  is  the  fiftli  figure  from  the  east  in  tlic  south 
aisle,  and  represents  a  bearded  woman  leaning  on  a  T-shaped  cross.  It  is  St. 
Wilgefortis,  who  was  also  known  as  St.  Uncnmber  and  Santa  Liberada.  She  was 
apparently  a  saint  only  of  the  vulgar,  and  is  ignored  by  Alban  Butler  and  by 
Abbe  Glaire.  She  used  to  be  approached  with  an  offering  of  oats  b}-  peasant 
couples  who  desired  to  be  loosed  from  unhapp}-  marriages  ;  and  the  legend  is  that 
she  prayed  to  be  free  from  a  match  which  was  being  forced  upon  her.  Her  prayer 
was  granted,  and  the  contract  was  ended  by  her  growth,  in  one  night,  of  a  manly 
beard,  as  she  is  here  represented.  It  is  perhaps  the  only  figure  of  her  in  England. 
We  can  but  hope  that  Henry  did  not  place  her  among  his  accustomed  "  avours 
or  guardian  saints "  out  of  any  uneasiness  which  he  felt  in  his  marriage  with 
the    fair   and    gentle    Elizabeth    of  York. 

The  cost  of  the  whole  chapel  was  stupendous,  and  it  shows  that  Henr}^  VII., 
though  accounted  miserl}',  stopped  short  at  no  expense  for  the  glorification  of 
himself  and  his  d^-nasty.  The  banners  are  those  of  the  Knights  of  the  Bath, 
of  which  this  was  constituted  the  chapel  b\'  George  I.  in  17-5.  The  banner  of 
George    I.   and    of    his    grandson,   Prince    Frederick,  are    among    them. 

The  magnificent  tomb  in  front  is  that  of  the  founder  of  the  chapel,  whose 
effigy — a  marvel  of  delicate  sculpture — lies  beside  that  of  his  wife,  Elizabeth  of 
York.  "  He  lieth  at  Westmiuster,"  said  Lord  Bacon,  "  in  one  of  the  stateliest  and 
daintiest  monuments  of  Europe,  both  for  the  chapel  and  the  sepulchre.  So  that  he 
dwelleth  more  richly  dead  in  the  monument  of  his  tomb  thau  he  did  alive  in  Rich- 
mond or  in  any  of  his  palaces."  The  bronze  "closure"  round  the  tomb  is  the  work 
of  the  fierce  Florentine  sculptor,  Torregiano,  who  as  a  }-outh  broke  the  nose  of 
Michael  Angelo  with  a  blow  of  his  mallet  ;  who  frightened  Benvenuto  Cellini  from 
accepting  his  invitations  to  England  by  his  "  loud  voice,  and  frowning  e^-ebrows, 
and  boasts  of  his  feats  among  those  beasts  of  Englishmen;"  and  who  finally 
starved  himself  to  death  in  a  Spanish  dungeon  of  the  Inquisition,  where  he  was 
imprisoned  because  in  a  fit  of  rage  he  had  dashed  to  pieces  his  own  fine  statue 
of  the  Virgin,  for  which  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  who  had  given  him  the  commission, 
paid  him  insufficiently.  It  would  require  too  much  space  to  describe  adequately 
this  noble  tomb.  In  front  of  it,  behind  the  hanging  chains,  is  the  small  altar- 
tomb  of  Edward  VI.,  of  which  the  delicate  sculpture  is  also  the  work  of  Torregi- 
ano. It  is  a  restoration,  for,  strange  to  say,  the  only  tomb  whicli  the  Puritans 
entirely  destroyed  in  the  Abbey  was  that  of  the  only  English  king  who  was  an 
absolute  Puritan.  This  is  easily  accounted  for  when  we  recall  that  it  was  an  altar- 
tomb,  and  was    erected    in    the    reign    of    Mary  Tudor. 

The    end    of    the    north    aisle    of    Henry    VII. 's    Chapel    is    known     as    "  Inno- 


34  Westminster  Abbey. 

cents'  Corner,"  since  only  children  lie  buried  there.  The  cradle  tomb  to  the  left 
is  that  of  the  Princess  Sophia,  an  infant  daughter  of  James  I.,  who  died  in  1606, 
aged  three  days.  The  next  is  that  of  her  sister,  the  Princess  Mary,  who  died 
in  1607,  at  the  age  of  two  years,  and  whom  her  father  describes  as  "  a  little  ro3-al 
rose  prematurely  plucked  by  death."  The  small  sarcophagus  in  a  recess  of  the 
east  wall  between  these  two  tombs  contains  the  bones  of  the  two  poor  boys, 
Edward  V.  and  his  brother  Richard,  Duke  of  York.  They  were  murdered  in  the 
Tower,  by  order  of  their  uncle,  Richard  III.,  in  14S3,  and  their  bones  were  found 
in  1674  in  a  chest  under  a  staircase  in  the  Tower.  As  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  these  were  the  bones  of  the  two  royal  bo3's,  Charles  II.  spared  an  infinites- 
imal sum  from  his  gross  and  selfish  extravagances  to  erect  this  paltry  little 
memorial    in    their    honour.     The    design  is    bj-  Sir    Christopher  Wren. 

The  sculptured  figures  above  will  show  the  character  of  all  the  statues  with 
which  the  chapel  is  surrounded,  most  of  which  are  so  high  up  that  they  cannot 
easily  be  examined.  All  the  saints  represented  have  been  identified  b}-  their  em- 
blems. One  is  St.  Lawrence  with  his  gridiron,  and  one  is  a  king  with  a  book, 
which  may  be  meant  for  St.  Louis  of  France  or  King  Henry  VI.,  whose  canoni- 
sation was,  however,  not  completed,  because  Henr}'  VII.  grudged  the  large  fees 
which  the  Pope  demanded.  One  was  long  an  enigma  to  the  antiquaries.  It  repre- 
sents a  priest  who  is  bearded,  is  vested  for  mass,  and  has  a  scapular  pulled  over 
his  chasuble.  But  he  appears  also  to  be  a  .soldier,  for  he  wears  iron  gauntlets ; 
and  a  student,  for  he  carries  a  book ;  and  a  slayer  of  monsters,  for  his  right 
hand  holds  a  stole,  which  is  twisted  round  the  neck  of  a  dragon.  Mr.  ]\Iickleth- 
waite,  F.  S.  A.,  has  now  proved  that  this  is  an  ideal  figure — an  "All-hallows,"  of 
which  it  is  an  almost  unique  example.  It  was  the  custom  in  mediaeval  churches 
to  place  at  the  east  end  an  image  of  the  patron  saint.  When  a  church  was 
dedicated  to  All  Saints,  a  figure  was  sometimes  placed  above  the  altar  which 
represented  the  combined  attributes  of  many  saints;  and  this  is  the  probable  ex- 
planation   of    this    curious    composite    figure. 


•JENNY-LIND-  V  /COLDSCHMIDT- 


\ 


THE  STATUARY. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  contains  specimens  of  the  scnlpture  of  five  and  a  half 
centuries,  from  the  recumbent  effigies  of  the  Plantagenets  to  Sir  E.  Boehm's 
statue  of  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  Mr.  Gilbert's  memorial  of  Mr.  Forster,  and 
the  bust  of  the  x^merican  poet,  Longfellow.  If  we  enter  the  cloisters  we  see  still  more 
ancient  monuments  in  the  South  Cloister,  where  there  are  three  effigies  in  low- 
relief  of  early  abbots.  The  oldest  is  that  of  Abbot  Vitalis,  10S5.  There  is  scarcely 
one  English  sculptor  of  anj^  name  who  has  not  cumbered  the  Abbey  with  souie 
sign  of  his  incapacit}'^  or  enriched  it  with  some  specimen  of  his  skill.  "  Every 
virtue  is  personified  in  marble  to  excess.  Figures  of  Fame  are  blowing  trumpets. 
In  this  Christian  church  there  are  statues  of  Minerva,  Neptune,  Hercules,  and  other 
heathen  deities ;  charity  children  are  not  omitted  and,  to  complete  the  variety,  there 
are  not  wanting  negroes  and  Red  Indians.  There  are  also  a  number  of  statuettes 
of  attendants,  children,  saints,  or  others,  as  weepers  over  the  deceased."  And,  to 
complete  the  list,  there  are  multitudes  of  dogs,  lions,  dragons,  and  other  creatures, 
imaginary  or  real.  Of  the  latter,  few  which  are  not  heraldic  deserve  much  notice.  I 
cauuot  even  admire  the  highl}^  praised  lions  by  Flaxman  couched  beside  the  pedestal 
of  the  statue  of  Captain  Montague.  Of  the  artistic  merits  and  demerits,  however,  of 
these  very  numerous  specimens  of  statuar}'  I  shall  say  but  little.  I  shall  speak  mainly 
of  the  general    inferences  which  we  may  draw  from  them,  and  then  ask  the  reader    to 

come  with  me  and  look  at  some  of  those  which  have  a  special  interest. 

(37) 


38 


Westminster  Abbey. 


One  remarkable  change  in  their  general  characteristics  can  hardly  fail  to 
strike   us.     The    older  monuments    are  religious,    the   latter  ones  are    mundane. 

Every  one  of  the  earlier  tombs  which  commemorate  the  dead,  whether 
in  the  form  of  effigies  or  of  monumental  brasses,  represents  them  in  the  attitudes  of 
death  and  prayer.     "  Two  praying  hands,"  says  the  Russian  proverb,  "  and  life  is  done." 

The  Tudors,  Henry  VII.,  Elizabeth 
of  York,  and  Queen  Elizabeth — since 
whom  no  English  king  or  queen  has 
been  honoured  with  a  tomb — as  well 
as  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  Margaret  of 
Lennox,  and  Margaret  of  Richmond, 
are  all  similarly  represented.  The 
later  ones,  it  is  true,  sometimes  hold  a 
ball  and  sceptre,  but  all  the  earlier 
have  the  two  hands  folded  as  in  prayer 
upon  the  breast.  The  thought  of  what 
life  has  been  is  not  excluded.  Tlie 
kings  sometimes  wear  their  golden 
crowns  ;  the  knights  and  crusaders  are 
clad  in  their  hauberk  and  mail ;  the 
young  Prince  John  of  Eltham  wears 
the  coronet  round  his  helmet ;  the 
ladies  are  clothed  in  the  nun's  dress — 
like  Eleanor  of  Gloucester  or  Margaret 
of  Richmond. 

Dean  Stanley  and  others  have 
pointed  out  how  gradual,  but  how 
decisive,  was  the  change  of  sentiment 
which  led  to  the  exhibition  on  the 
tombs  of  the  pride  and  self-assertion 
of  life  in  lien  of  the  repose  and  help- 
lessness of  death. 

"  It  was  not  in  England  alone," 
says  Westmacott,  "  that  the  miserable  decline  in  ecclesiastical  sculpture  was  apparent." 
It  is  observable  in  Italy,  in  St.  Peter's,  even  in  the  tombs  of  the  Popes.  The  true 
spirit  of  religious  art  disappeared,  and  sculpture,  like  painting,  became  a  mere  theatre 
in  which  to  parade  the  vain  science  of  the  living,  and  the  empty  self-satisfaction  of  the 
dead  man  or  his  survivors.  These  later  tombs  are  so  lacking  in  repose  that  some  of  them 
look  "  as  though  they  had  been   tumbled  out  of  a  waggon  on  the  top  of  a  pyramid." 


TOMB   OF   MARY,    QUEEN   OF   SCOTS. 


Westminster  Abbey. 


39 


After  the  sixteenth  century  it  no  longer  seems  to  be  the  object  to  teach  ns 
that  man  is  a  thing  of  nought,  that  his  days  pass  like  a  shadow,  that  he  is  crushed 
before  the  moth,  but  rather  to  displaj^,  as  though  they  were  enduring  and  desirable, 
the  prizes  and  the  magnificence  of  life.  The  epitaphs  are  no  longer  brief  and 
simple,  but  revel  in  the  enumeration  of  titles  and  the  eulogy  of  achievements.  The 
dead  man  flourishes  his  sword,  or  displays  his  book,  or  looks  about  him  for  applause, 
while  (in  time)  all  sorts  of  allegorical  figures  point  at  him,  and  crown  him,  and  naked 
cherubs  shed  over  him  their 
imaginary  and  lu'pocritic  tears. 
The  figures  of  the  departed  first 
rise  to  their  knees,  as  on  the  tomb 
of  Lord  Burleigh  ;  then  stand  erect, 
as  on  that  of  Sir  George  Holies ; 
then  sit  in  their  easy-chairs,  like 
Elizabeth  Russell,  or  even  loll 
therein,  like  Wilberforce. 

Another  wave  of  tendency 
which  is  most  observable  and  sig- 
nificantly interesting  is  the  different 
aspect  in  which  death  itself  is  re- 
garded. The  early  tombs  were  like 
radiant  phantoms,  with  blue  and 
vermilion,  and  gold,  and  glass 
mosaic,  and  lustrous  enamels,  and 
floral  sculpturings,  and  angels  with 
outspread  wings.  In  these  death 
was  not  presented  as  a  thing  re- 
volting and  abhorrent,  nor  was  any 
prominence  given  to  the  mere 
accidents  of  corruption  and  decay. 
The  tombs  of  a  later  age  become 
widely  different.  The  skull  and  cross-bones — most  futile,  most  conventional,  most 
offensive  of  all  "  decorations  " — appear  for  the  first  time  on  the  unfinished  tomb  of  Anne 
of  Cleves.  After  that  we  get,  with  increasing  frequency,  the  ridiculous  multitudes  of 
weeping  children,  and  the  females  who  sit  under  willows  and  clasp  urns  to  their  breast.* 


MONUMENT   TO   WILLIAM   WILBERFORCE. 


*  "  The  sum  of  a  life  expeuded,  a  pearl  in  a  swine-trough  cast, 
A  comedy  played  aud  ended — and  what  has  it  come  to  at  last  ? 
The  dead  face  pressed  on  a  pillow,  the  journey  taken  alone, 
And  the  tomb  with  an  urn  and  a  willow,  and  a  lie  carved  deep  in  the  stone." — G.  J.   Whyte-Melville. 


40 


Westmvtster  Abbey. 


The  attempt  to  force  into  prominence  the  fact  that  death  is  a  thing  for  which  to 
weep,  and  the  angel  of  death  a  king  of  terrors,  culminates  in  two  tombs  in  the 
chapel  of  St.  John  the  Evangelist.  One — with  the  inscription  Lacriniis  struxit  amor 
— is  spotted  all  over  with  imaginary  tear-drops,  falling   from    an    eye  which    is    carved 

above  it!  The  other  is  the  famous 
tomb  of  Lady  Elizabeth  Nightin- 
gale, of  which  Burke  disapproved, 
but  which  is  usually  regarded  as 
Roubiliac's  masterpiece,  and  which 
Wesley  is  said  to  have  considered 
the  finest  monument  in  the  Ab- 
be}', as  showing  "  common  sense 
among  heaps  of  unmeaning  stone 
and  marble."  Considered  merely 
as  sculpture,  the  contrasted  figures 
of  the  dying  wife  and  the  startled, 
agonised  husband  are  imdeniably 
fine  and  skilful,  but  nothing  can 
be  more  repellent  or  less  like  the 
feeling  with  which  the  early 
Christians  regarded  death,  than 
the  revolting  skeleton  who  issues, 
with  his  javelin,  from  the  dark 
tomb  below. 

The  Renaissance,  when  it 
had  sunk  to  decadence,  was  ac- 
companied by  a  gradual  fading  of 
the  old  religious  ideals ;  but  it 
left  as  sad  a  legacy  in  the  history 
of  monumental  sculpture  by  what 
it  introduced  as  by  what  it  dis- 
carded. It  was  marked  by  sheer 
paganism,  vapid  allegory,  ostenta- 
tious science,  pseudo-classicalisra,  insincere  or  affected  religionism,  and  monstrous  in- 
congruities. 

A    few   instances    will    illustrate    the    disastrous    change. 

Let      the     visitor    walk,     first,    to     the     effigy    of    Margaret    of     Richmond,  the 

gentle    and     noble     mother    of    Henry    VIL,    who    died,    practically    as    a    nun,    in  the 

monastery  of  Barking.     As  a  piece  of  sculpture  it  is  very  lovely.     We   seem  to  see  the 


TOMB   OF   I^ADY   ELIZABETH   NIGHTINGALE. 


Wrstviinstcr  Abbey.  41 

royal  lad}-  lying  before  us  in  her  simple  religious  dress,  with  her  face  emaciated  by 
asceticism,  and  furrowed,  as  in  life-time,  with  many  a  tear.  The  hands,  folded  in 
prayer,  are  delicately  perfect.  There  is  no  pride  or  pomposity  about  this  memorial 
of  the  ancestress  of  a  line  of  mighty  kings. 

Walk  from  this  monument  to  what  remains  of  the  vulgar  and  preposterous 
cenotaph  to  the  now  utterly  forgotten  Admiral  Tyrrell,  who  died  in  1766.  It  is  in 
the  south  aisle  of  the  nave — "  a  prodigious  mass  of  rocks,  clouds,  sea,  and  ships." 
It  almost  blocked  up  an  entire  window  with  clouds  like  oyster  shells,  from  which  it 
received  the  name  of  "  The  Pancake."  It  is  remarkable  for  the  most  ridiculous  im- 
itation of  waves  ever  devised  by  man.  History,  Navigation,  Hibernia  are  represented 
as  semi-nude  figures  under  the  sea  among  the  rocks ;  the  latter  is  rapturously 
pointing  to  the  spot  on  the  terrestrial  globe  where  the  Admiral  was  born.  The 
Admiral  himself,  nude,  is — or  rather  was^  for  the  figure  is  now  removed — ascend- 
ing out  of  the  sea  and  soaring  heavenwards,  "  looking  for  all  the  world,"  said 
Nollekens,  "  as  if  he  were  hanging  from  a  gallows  with  a  rope  round  his  neck." 
We  see  the  same  "kicking  gracefulness"  on  the  tomb  which  represents  the  bald 
and    semi-nude    Kempenfeldt    also    soaring    hea\enwards. 

Perhaps  the  earliest  invasion  of  paganism  into  the  monumental  sculp- 
ture of  our  Christian  minster  is  in  the  costly  and  pompous  tomb  raised  by  his 
widow  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  murdered  favourite  of  Charles  I.  It  is 
by  Nicholas  Stone.  Here  we  have  Fame  "even  bursting  herself  and  her  trum- 
pets to  tell  the  news  of  his  so  sudden  foil ;  "  and  the  pensive  or  weeping  figures 
of  Mars,  Minerva,  Neptune — and  Beneficence!  The  juxtaposition  reminds  one  of 
the  four  figures  on  the  roof  of  the  library  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  which 
as    freshmen    were    told,    stood    for    Faith,    Hope,    Charity,    and — Geography! 

Yet  these  obtrusive  heathen  symbols  are  hardly  so  banalcs  as  the  vapid 
allegorical  figures  of  the  later  tombs.  An  anecdote  will  show  how  meaningless  the 
symbolism  became.  Banks  was  offered  three  hundred  pounds  to  carve  a  monument 
for  some  provincial  gentleman.  "  Who  was  he  ? ''  he  asked.  "  Was  he  benevo- 
lent ? "  "  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  visitor,  "  but  he  always  gave  sixpence  to 
the  old  woman  who  opened  the  pew  for  him  on  Sunday."  "  That  will  do !  that  will 
do !  "  said  the  sculptor,  "  zuc  viust  have  recourse  to  our  frietid  the  pelican  / "  Rj's- 
brach  (d.  1770)  and  Scheemacker  (d.  1769)  are,  as  a  rule,  more  sensible.  The  bas- 
relief  of  the  former  on  the  tomb  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  is  full  of  ingenuity  and 
charm.  Chantrey  is  somewhat  prosaic,  but  to  him  we  owe  tlie  final  abandonment 
of  these  foolish  figures.  Once,  when  another  sculptor  told  Chantrej'  that  he  had 
been  sculpturing  a  statue  of  Adam,  Chantrey  took  snuff  and  looked  up  with  the 
quick    question,   "Is    it    like f'' 

The    difi&culties     presented     to   a    sculptor    by    our    modern    dress     may    be    con- 


42 


Westinitister  Abbey. 


ceded,    but   nothing    can    defend    the    absurdity    of    representing    Sir    Robert    Peel,    as 

Gibson  has  done,  in  the  toga  of  a  Roman  senator. 

It   is   a   matter   of  congratulation    that  the   taste  of  modern    times    has    returned 

to    the    tone    of    pre-Raphaelite    days,    and    the    effigies    of    Dean    Stanley    and    Lord 

John    Thynne    are    of    the    older    and 
simpler  tj'pe. 

There  are  some  who  have  iirged 
the  sweeping  away  of  many  of  the 
cumbersome  monstrosities  of  the  later 
centuries,  and  restoring  something  of 
the  architectural  beauty  and  sj-mmetry 
which  they  in  part  deface.  Dean 
Stanley  ventured  to  take  a  few  timid 
steps  in  this  direction  by  pruning  the 
luxuriance  of  the  Tyrrell  monument, 
and  reducing  the  towering  height  of 
the  one  erected  to  Captain  Cornewall. 
If  an  annexe  to  the  Abbey  existed  I 
confess  that  I  should  like  to  place 
in  it  one  or  two  of  the  huge  structures 
which  express  the  naval  pride  and 
exultation  of  the  nation  in  the  days 
of  Howe  and  Rodney.  They  blot  out 
many  a  fine  vista,  and  take  up  a 
disproportionate  amount  of  valuable 
space.  I  would  also  ruthlessly  dimin- 
ish the  masses  of  marble  placed  behind 
some  of  the  statues,  those  for  instance, 
of  General  Stringer  and  Lord 
Chatham.  But  further  than  that  I 
would  not  go. 

The  Abbey  reflects  the  changes 
of  every  succeeding  epoch.  The  very 
fact  that  it  does  so  adds  materially  to 

its    interest.      Few    things  are    more    interesting  than  to    trace    back    those  changes  to 

the     deep-lying     moral     and     spiritual    facts     in     which    they   originated,    and    there    is 

perhaps    no    building    in    the   world    where    it    is    so    easy    to    do    this    as    it    is    in 

Westminster  Abbey. 


TOMB   OF  SIR   ISAAC   NEWTON. 


'^9B 


THE    EPITAPHS. 


AN    ep 
for 


ISAAC  WATTS    DDf 
I    HORN    lULY  17   1674 r 


D^H)  \()\':r)  1748 


ISAAC   WATTS. 


N  epitaph,  intended  to  be  for  years,  perhaps 
centuries,  the    sole    remaining   memorial 

ot  a  person  who  has  been  in  many  cases 
honoured,  and  in  most  cases  presumably  beloved, 
is  a  composition  which  usually  involves  much  care 
and  consideration.  Yet  it  is  undeniable  that 
nothing  in  the  Abbey  receives  less  attention 
than  these  inscriptioUs  upon  the  tombs,  though 
the  tombs  themselves  are  gazed  upon  with  curiosity 
every  year  b}'  hundreds  of  thousands  of  visitors ; 
and  this  is  the  more  strange  because  many  of 
these  inscriptions  have  been  written  by  men  -who 
■''-"  ';V''.if'i^  were  selected  for  their  eminence  and  literary  skill. 

One  great  cause  for  this  neglect  is  to  be 
found  in  the  inordinate  length  of  these  too  often 
pompous  and  needlessly  verbose  eulogies.  That 
the  epitaphs  are  invariably  eulogistic  was  perhaps 
to  be  expected.  "Where,  then,  do  they  bury  the 
bad  people?"  asked  a  child,  after  reading  in  a 
cemetery  the  superhuman  and  exceptionless  virtues 
of  such  a  multitude  of  immaculate  women  and 
blameless  men.  There  have  been  instances  in 
which  the  record  on  the  gravestone  has  been  so 
notoriously  belied  by  the  memories  of  the  life  that 
we  are  not  surprised  at  the  line  of  the  satirist — 

"Believe  a  woman  or  an  epitaph." 


Perhaps  the  palmary  instance  of  unconscious  vanity  and  incongruity  in  this 
direction  is  found  on  the  bust  erected  by  Benson  to  Milton,  in  which  we  have  one 
line  al)out  Milton  and  four  or  five  about  the  small  official  magnificences  of  Benson. 
This  curiosity  should  be  given  entire.     It  is — 

"  This  bust  of  the  Author  of  '  Paradise  Lost '  was  placed  here  by  William  Benson,  Esquire,  one  of  the  two  Auditors 
of  the  Imprests  to  His  Majesty  King  George  II.,  formerly  Surveyor-General  of  the  works  to  H.  M.  King  George  I." 

(45) 


46  Westminster  Abbey. 

If  the  tombs  of  really  great  men  were  crowded  with  such  facts  their  epitaphs 
would  almost  assume  the  proportions  of  biographies.  The  greatest  meu  and 
women,  as  a  rule,  have  the  shortest  epitaphs,  and  have  been  those  who  would 
care  least  about  loug  ones. 

Two  words,  Carolus  Magnus^  were  enough  for  Karl  the  Great.  We  know 
that  on  the  grave  of  Wordsworth,  in  Grasmere  Churchyard,  are  only  the  two 
words  "  William  Wordsworth."  Keats  wished  nothing  else  carved  on  his  tombstone 
than  "  Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  writ  in  water."  On  the  fine  bust  of 
Dryden,  raised  to  his  memory  by  the  Maecenas  of  literature  in  his  day,  John 
Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Duke  knew  that  it  was  wholly  unnecessary 
to  add  anything  to  the  words,  "John  Dryden,  born  1632,  died  May  i,  1700." 
Already  on   the   tomb    of  Spenser    had   been    inscribed    the  w-ords — 

"  Here  lies  (expecting  the  second  coming  of  onr  Saviour  Christ  Jesus)  the  bod)-  of  Edmund  Spenser,  the  Prince  of 
Poets  in  his  time,  whose  divine  spirit  needs  no  other  witness  than  the  works  which  he  left  l)ehind  him.  He  was  born  in 
London  in  1553,  and  died  in  1598." 

The  tombs  and  graves  and  busts  of  Samuel  Johnson,  David  Garrick,  Isaac 
Watts,  George  Grote,  Charles  Darwin,  Robert  Browning,  Charles  Dickens,  and 
others,  are  marked  only  by  their  names  and  the  dates  of  their  birth  and  death. 
On  the  grave  of  Newton  are  the  words,  Hie  dcpositum  est  Isaaci  Newtoni  quod 
uiortale  fait. 

On  the  cenotaph  of  Samuel  Butler,  the  author  of  "  Hudibras,"  J.  Barber, 
Lord    Mayor   of  London,  placed    the    not    unhappy  turn    of  speech, 

"Ne  cui  vivo  deerant  fere  omnia 
Deesset  etiam  mortuo  tumulus." 

The  Abbey  contains  but  two  epitaphs  by  Lord  Tennyson.  One  is  on  Sir 
Stratford    de    Redcliffe — 

"Thou   third  great    Canning,    stand    among   our  best 
And   noblest,   now  thy  long  day's  work   hath  ceased, 
Here  silent  in  our   Minster  of  the  West, 
Who  wert  the   voice  of  England  in  the  East." 

The  inscriptions  on  the  tombs  of  later  days  show  a  marked  increase  of 
taste  and  common-sense.  Thej^  are  in  many  cases  brief,  striking,  and  essentially 
illustrative  of  the  lives  and  characters  of  those  whose  memory  they  are  intended 
to  perpetuate.  This  was  mainly  due  to  the  genial  wisdom,  wide  reading,  and  lit- 
erary taste  of  Dean  Stanley,  to  whom  all  who  love  the  Abbey  owe  an  inesti- 
mable debt  of  gratitude.  He  made  the  epitaphs  not  only  fitting  memorials  of  the 
dead,  but  also  to  be,  like  the  Hermas  at  Athens,  a  source  of  instruction  and  moral 
ennoblement  to  all  who  read  their  lofty  sentiments.  Thus,  under  the  bust  of  the 
first  Lord    Lawrence  are  inscribed  the  words    spoken  of   him  by  a  friend — "  He  feared 


Westfunisfrr  Abbey. 


A7 


man    so    little    because    he    feared    God    so    much."       On    the    cenotaph    of  John    and 
Charles  Wesley  are  carved    three  famous    sayings  of  the  founder  of  the    Methodists — 

"  The  best  of  all  is,  God  is  with  us  ;  " 

which  were   the  words  repeated    by  him    three    times,  with    strange    energy,  as    he    lay 
on  his  death-bed. 

"  I  look  on  the  whole  world  as  my  Parish  ;  " 

words  which  he  used  as  a  defence  of  the  evangelistic 

energy  of  his   life;   and  ^^^^  wesley.  m  a 

•  OflM     JUNC     IT.     1703      OtEO     MARCN     2     lltl. 


CHARLES    WESLEY.   MA. 

BORN     DCCEMBCn     (S.  ITOBT    DIED    MANCH    79     178k. 


"THE    BEST    OF    AL 


IS,  COO     IS    WITH    US" 


"  God  buries  His  workmen,  but  carries  on  His  work." 

In  a  grave  where  rested  for  a  time  the  remains 
of  the  philanthropist,  George  Peabody,  are  inscribed 
his  best-known  words — 

"  I  have  prayed  my  Heavenly  Father  day  by  day  that  He  would 
enable  me  to  show  my  gratitude  for  the  blessings  which  I  have  received 
by  doiug  some  great  good  for  my  fellow-men." 

Again,  on  the  grave  of  Livingstone,  which  is 
always  a  point  of  the  deepest  interest  to  all  visitors 
of  the  Abbey,  are  recorded  the  last  words  he  ever 
wrote — the  words  which  he  had  written  in  his  diary 
very  shortly  before  he  was  found  by  his  black  followers 
dead  upon  his  knees. 

"All  I  can  add  in  my  solitude  is,  M.ay  Heaven's  rich  bles.sing 
come  down  on  every  one,  American,  Englisli,  or  Turk,  who  will  help  to 
heal  this  open  sore  of  the  world,"  /'.  c,  the  slave  trade. 

Certainly  the  two  epitaphs  in  the  Abbey  which, 
as  epitaphs,  are  most  famous  and  most  frequently 
repeated  are  those  on  a  great  dramatist  and  an  un- 
known little  child.  Every  one  reads  with  interest 
the  well-known  words, 

"O  Rare  Ben  Jonson," 

which  a  casual  passer-by  had  engraved,  at  a  cost  of  half-a-crown  to  the  sexton, 
on  the  square  stone  under  which  the  poet  was  buried  upright.  He  has  never 
needed  any  other  memorial.  In  the  cloister  is  a  plain  tablet  to  a  little  child  of 
the  humbler  classes,  who  died  in  infancy  in  the  year  of  revolution  i6S8.  "In 
that  eventful  year  of  the  Revolution,"  says  Dean  Stanley,  "  when  Church  and 
State  were  reeling  to  their  foundation,  this  dear  child  found  her  quiet  resting-place 
in    the    eastern    cloister.       The    sigh    over    the    prematurely  ended    life  is    petrified   into 


48 


Westnii)ister  Abbey. 


stone,  and  affects  us  the  more  deeply  from  the  great  events  amidst  which  it  is 
enshrined."  There  is  no  other  inscription  of  all  these  hundreds  which  recalls  the 
pathetic,  exquisite  simplicity  of  the  epitaphs  in  the  Catacombs,  where  the  perse- 
cuted Christians  of  the  first  centuries  rest  in  peace.     It  is  simply, 

"  Here  lyes 
Jane  Lister, 
dear  Childe." 

On    Dean    Stanley's    own    altar-tomb   of    alabaster    is    an    inscription    such    as 


DEAN    STANLEY'S   ALTAR-TOMB. 

he   himself  would    have    approved.      It    gives    no   pompous    enumeration   of    titles    and 
honours,  but   the    date    of  his    career,  and    the    appropriate    text — 

"  I  know  that  all  things  come  to  an  end  ; 
But  Thy  commandments  are  exceeding  broad." 

I  think  that  a  visit  to  the  Abbey  may  teach  us  two  lessons,  among  many 
others,  which  we  should  all  try  to  learn :  namely,  tolerance  for  opinions,  and  sym- 
pathy with    men. 

We  should  here  learn  to  be  tolerant  of  opinions  which  differ  widely  from 
our  own.  Here  lie  side  by  side  a  multitude  of  those  who  were  equally  good  and 
great,    yet    who    in     their    lifetime     regarded     each     other     as     heinous     heretics     and 


IVcslniiiislcr  Abbey. 


SI 


monstrous  blasphemers.  The  dust  of  Romanist  abbot  sleeps  side  by  side  with  the 
dust  of  Protestant  dean,  and  the  great  EHzabetli,  true  queen  of  the  Reformation, 
shares  the  same  quiet  tomb  with  the  Papist  Alary,  as  they  each  experienced  the 
trials  of  the  same  uneasy  throne.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  recalling  that  the  great  rivals, 
Pitt  and  Fox,  sleep  under  the  same  pavement  within  a  few  feet  of  each  other,  sings — 


"  Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
La)-s  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings. 
Where  still  the  hand  and  still  the  tongue 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung. 
Here  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song, 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  again, 
'All  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men' — 
If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
Oh,  here  let  prejudice  depart."' 

If  the  aspiration  be  need- 
ful  as  regards  political  differ 
ences,  how  much  more  needful 
is  it  with  reference  to  those 
"  unhappy  divisions  "  which 
rend  asunder  the  peace  of  the 
Christian  Church! 

But  the  lesson  of  a  wise 
and  noble  tolerance  in  judging 
of  opinions  is  closely  connected 
with  the  dnt}'  of  loving  sympathy 
for  men.  To  create  gaps  and 
chasms  in  history  which  separate 
us  from  this  or  that  age  of  our 
forefathers  by  the  discontinuity 
of  fierce  aversions,  is  even  a 
smaller    evil    than    the    almost 

universal  lack  of  charity  in  speaking  or  thinking  of  living  men.  Westmiuster  Abbey 
should  be  "  a  great  temple  of  silence  and  reconciliation,  where  the  discords  of 
twenty  generations  lie  buried."  Let  us  dwell  on  the  greatness  and  goodness  of 
"famous  men,  and  the  fathers  who  begat  us,"  rather  than  on  their  differences, 
and  human  frailties,  and  mutual  persecutions,  and  all  their  "glimmerings  and 
decays."  Of  all  tempers  that  exist  among  mankind,  surely  the  vilest  and  the  most 
serpentine  is  that  which  delights  in  criticism  and  depreciation.  If  sensuality  be- 
longs    to    the    beast    within     us,    malice    and    envy    and    lies    belong    to    the    demons. 


MONUMENT   TO   CHARLES  JAMES    FOX. 


C2  IVeshninstcr  Abbey. 

To  revel  in  "  the  loatlisome  and  lying  spirit  of  defamation,  which  studies  man 
only  in  the  skeleton,  and  nature  only  in  ashes,"  may  be  the  glory  of  the  world- 
ling, but  it  is  the  infamy  of  the  Christian.  Here,  in  the  quiet  light  of  history, 
we  may  read  that  many  who,  in  their  lifetime,  hated  and  denounced  each  other, 
who  embittered  each  other's  brief,  sad  lives,  and  would  even  have  burnt  one 
another,  were  yet  the  common  servants  of  one  dear  Lord.  "The  meek,  the  just, 
the  pious,  the  devout,"  said  William  Penn,  "  are  all  of  one  religion."  How  bitter 
have  been  the  mutual  animosities  of  schools,  and  parties,  and  rival  Churches ! 
Yet  here  surely  we  may  honour,  and  reverence,  and  love  the  beauty  of  holiness 
in  all  God's  saints,  and  pray  that  He  would  make  us  mindful  to  follow  their 
good    examples.     How  fully  may  the}^  have    learnt    beyond    these    noises, 

"  That  all  their  early  creed  was  not  correct, 
That  God  is  not  the  leader  of  a  sect !  " 

Once,  in  the  French  wars,  an  English  frigate  encountered  another  during 
the  night.  Each  mistook  the  other  for  a  French  man-of-war.  They  fought  with 
each  other  furiously,  they  injured  each  other  desperatel}',  in  the  darkness.  Da}' 
dawned,  and  lo !  with  salutes  and  bitter  weeping,  amid  the  dead  and  the  dying 
and  the  shattered  debris  of  the  fight,  each  recognized  the  English  flag  flying  over 
the  other  ship,  and  found  that  they  had  been  injuring  their  common  country, 
slaying  and  shattering  their  friends  and  brethren.  Ah !  let  us  not  make  the 
same  mistake  in  the  twilight  of  our  earthly  opinions.  When  we  are  tempted  to 
shoot  out  our  arrows,  even  bitter  words,  against  those  who  differ  from  us,  let  us 
remember  how  we  must  weep  and  blush  for  such  base  and  ignorant  railing  when 
we  see  them  shining  in  the  light  of  their  Saviour's  presence,  God's  chosen 
saints    before    His    throne. 


DIGNITARIES. 


DEAN  STANLEY. 


ARTHUR  PENRHYN  STANLEY,  D.  D. 

AT  WESTMINSTER,  the  late  lamented  Dean,  Arthur  Penrh3'n  Stanley,  has,  by 
his  memorials  of  the  Abbey  (1S67),  put  all  visitors  under  his  debt.  His 
■was  a  most  interesting  personality,  universally  popular  in  societ\^  owing 
to  the  charm  of  his  manner  and  the  delight  of  his  conversation.  He  was  a  leader 
of  the  Broad  Church  party  and  was  not  infrequently  misunderstood,  and  credited 
with  laxer  views  and  greater  heterodoxy  than  he  reall}^  possessed,  through  the  warm 
enthusiasm  with  which  he  defended  any  one  whom  he  believed  to  be  suffering  for  con- 
science' sake.  The  vividness  and  power  of  diction  displayed  in  his  lectures  on  the 
Jewish  Church  and  other  theological  works  gave  them  great  popularity,  though,  as 
Bishop  Lightfoot's  criticism  of  his  commentary  shows,  there  are  many  misstatements, 
inaccuracies  and  contradictions  to  be  found  in  them  b}^  a  more  impartial  scholar. 
July  18,   iSSi,  he  died,  and  was  buried  in  the  Abbey. 

(55) 


FREDERIC  WILLIAM  FARRAR,  D.D. 

ONE  should  not  visit  Westminster  without,  if  possible,  listening  to  the  eloquent 
Canon  and  Rector  of  little  St.  Margaret's,  Frederic  William  Farrar,  Archdeacon  of 
Westminster.  To  his  oriental  birthplace  (born  at  Bomba_y,  August  7,  1831,) 
possibly  some  of  the  vivid  rhetoric  and  pictorial  imagination  which  mark  his  books 
may  be  owing.  He  has  been  a  prolific  writer  upon  a  wide  range  of  subjects,  first 
becoming  known  as  the  author  of  rather  sensational  tales  of  school-boy  life,  next  of 
books  upon  language,  and  finally  of  theological  works,  which,  through  his  poetic 
temperament  and  superabundant  fertility  of  language,  joined  to  an  undoubted  scholar- 
ship, have  become  very  popular.  It  may  suffice  to  name  his  "Eternal  Hope,"  denying 
the  usually  accepted  doctrine  of  the  future  state  of  the  wicked,  which  aroused  a 
great  controversy,  and  his  Life  of  Christ,  which  has  been  called  the  most  widely 
read  theological  work  of  the  century,  reaching  a  twelfth  edition  in  the  3'ear  of  its 
publication.  The  latter  is  a  brilliant  reproduction  of  the  Gospel  narratives  refracted 
and  considerably  coloured  by  the  writer's  imagination.  Archdeacon  Farrar  is  an 
ardent  teetotaler  and  champion  of  the  Low  Church  party,  though  probably  better 
described  as  a  Broad-churchman  himself.  The  recent  promotion  of  Archdeacon  Farrar 
to  the  Deanerj'  of  Canterbury  has  met  with  general  approval. 
(56) 


DEAN    FARRAR. 


ST,    PAUL'S  CATHEDRAL. 


ST.  PAUL'S. 


W 


TAS,  then,  the  Fire  of  London,  if 
so  renior-seless,  so  fatal  a  de- 
stroyer ?  Are  we  to  mourn 
with  nqmitigated  sorrow  over  the  de- 
molition of  old  St.  Paul's  ?  Of  Eng- 
land's more  glorious  cathedrals,  it 
seems  to  me,  I  confess,  none  could 
be  so  well  spared.  Excepting  its  vast 
size,  it  had  nothing  to  distinguish  it. 
It  must  have  been  a  glooni}-,  ponderous 
pile.  The  nave  and  choir  were  of 
different  ages  (that  was  common),  but 
ill  formed,  ill  adjusted  together,  with 
disproportioned  aisles,  and  transepts, 
and  a  low,  square,  somewhat  clumsy 
tower,  out  of  which  once  rose  a  spire, 
tall  indeed,  but  merelj-  built  of  wood- 
work and  lead.  London  would,  at  best, 
have  been  forced  to  bow  its  head  before 
the  cathedrals  of  man}-  of  our  provincial 

DEAN    MILMAN.  ^-^-^^^       qj^^    g^     ^^^y^    ^^^    nothing   of 

the  prodigal  magnificence,  the  harmonious  variety  of  Lincoln,  the  stateh'  majesty  of  York, 
the  solemn  grandeur  of  Canterbury,  the  perfect,  sky-aspiring  unity  of  Salisburj-.  It  had 
not  even  one  of  the  great  conceptions  which  are  the  pride  and  boast  of  some  of  our  other 
churches  ;  neither  the  massy  strength  of  Durham,  "  looking  eternit}'  "  with  its  marvellous 
Galilee,  nor  the  tower  of  Gloucester,  nor  the  lantern  of  El}',  nor  the  rich  picturesqueness 
of  Beverle}',  nor  the  deep  receding,  highly  decorated  arches  of  the  M-est  front  of  Peter- 
borough.    And  of   ancient  St.   Paul's,  the  bastard  Gothic  of   Inigo  Jones  had  cased  the 

venerable   if   decayed   walls   throughout  with  a  flat,  incongruous  facing.     The  unrivalled 

(6i) 


62 


S/.   PauPs. 


beauty  of  luigo  Jones's  "Portico"  was  the  deformity  of  the  church.  Even  iu  its  imme- 
diate neighbourhood,  though  wanting  a  central  tower,  and  its  western  towers,  not  too  suc- 
cessfully afterwards  added  by  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  the  Abbey,  with  its  fine  soaring 
columns,  its  beautiful  proportions,  its  solemn,  gray,  diapered  walls, — the  Abbe}',  with  its 
intricate  cliapels,  with  its  chambers  of  royal  tombs,  with  Henry  VII. 's  Chapel,  an  excres- 
cence indeed,  but  in  sufficient  harmony  with  the  main  building,  in  itself  an  inimitable 
model  of  its  style,  crowned  by  its  richly  fretted  roof, — the  Abbey  of  Westminster  would 
have  put  to  perpetual  shame  the  dark,  unimpressive  pile  of  the  City  of  London  :    West- 


Jlu  I  ii./.iiil,ii.<nt 


Lau'  t 


St.  Paul's. 


ST.   PAUIv'S  FROM   WATERLOO   BRIDGE. 


minster  modestly  reposing  in  its  lower  level — St.  Paul's  boastfully  loading  its  more  proud, 
but  more  obtrusive  eminence. 

The  rebuilding  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  was  at  once  (the  necessary  delay  of  a  few 
years  intervening)  assumed  as  a  national  work.  It  rested  not  with  the  Bishop,  the  Dean 
and  Chapter,  or  the  City  of  London.  The  King,  the  whole  nobility,  Parliament,  without 
demur,  recognised  the  paramount  duty  of  erecting  a  splendid  cathedral,  worthy  of  the 
metropolis,  worthy  of  England. 

The  subscriptions  were  headed  by  the  King,  who  ordered  that  ^1,000  should  be 
contributed  annually  in  quarterly  payments  from  his  privy  purse.     But  we  seek  in  vain  for 


S/.  PauPs. 


63 


this  jmymeut;  King  Charles  11. 's  privy  purse  vv;i.s  exhausted,  no  douht,  by  other  thau 
pious  uses.  After  all,  the  chief  expenditure  was  borne  by  the  coal  dut}-,  granted  by 
Parliament,  and  renewed  from  time  to  time,  at  varying  rates,  varying  also  in  its 
apportionment. 

This,  as  all  London  was  supplied  with  sea-borne  coal,  and  the  duty  could  be  easily 
and  fairly  collected,  was,  perhaps,  as  equitable  a  tax  as  could  be  devised ;  the  rich 
generally  in  their  palaces  consuming,  in  proportion,  more  fuel  than  the  poor  in  their 
tenements.  The  coal  had  its  revenge  on  the  public  buildings,  especially  on  St.  PauFs,  by 
the  damage  which  it  did  and  still  does  by  its  smoke. 


ST.  PAUL'S  FROM  FLEKT  STREET. 


Sir  Christopher  Wren  was  designated  in  the  King's  Commission  as  the  architect 
of  the  new  cathedral.  Wren,  in  truth,  stood  alone  as  an  architect,  without  rival  or 
competitor.  He  was  chosen,  not  by  the  King's  will  alone,  but,  it  may  be  said,  by 
general   acclamation. 

He  who  was  to  rival  St.  Peter's  never  saw  St.  Peter's.  In  the  year  1665,  Wren 
made  a  journey  to  France.  But  it  is  characteristic  of  the  times  that,  in  his  account  of  the 
public  buildings  which  he  saw,  there  is  not  a  word  about  the  matchless  French  cathedrals. 

He  had  an  interview  with  Bernini,  then  at  Paris,  who  had  been  invited  to  complete 
the  Louvre.     "  Bernini's  design  for  the  Louvre  I  would  have  given  my  skin  for,  but  the 


64 


SL  PauPs. 


old  reserved  Italian  gave  me  but  a  few  minutes'  view ;  it  was  five  little  designs,  for  which 

he  has  received  as  many  thousand  pistoles."     Bernini's  well-paid  design   for  the  Louvre 

was  not  adopted. 

What  then  was  to  be  the  style  and  character  of  the  cathedral  about  to  rise  in  the 

metropolis  of  England,  worthy 
of  her  piety,  her  wealth,  and 
her  fame  ?  Of  this,  at  that 
time,  and  with  Wren  for  the 
architect,  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  Gothic  architecture 
throughout  Christendom  was 
dead.  In  England,  its  last 
refuge,  it  had  expired  in  what 
after  all  were  but  Collegiate 
and  Roj-al  Chapels — Kiug's 
at  Cambridge,  Henry  VII. 's 
at  Westminster.  Throughout 
Europe  Gothic  and  "  barbar- 
ous "  bore  the  same  meaning ; 
Catholicism  had  revived  under 
the  Jesuit  reaction,  but  her 
churches  affected  the  Classical 
Renaissance  style. 

St.  Peter's  was  the  un- 
rivalled pride  of  the  Christian 
world,  the  all-acknowledged 
model  of  church  architecture. 
To  rival  St.  Peter's,  to  approach 
its  unapproachable  grandeur, 
was  a  worthy  object  of  ambi- 
tion to  an  English,  a  Protestant 
architect.  St.  Peter's  had  been 
built  from  the  religious  tribute 
of  the  whole  Christian  world ; 

it  might  be  said  at  the  cost  of  a  revolution  which  severed  half  the  world  from  the  dominion 

of  Rome.     It  had  been  commenced  at  least  by  payments  out  of  the  sins  of  mankind.     St. 

Peter's  had  been  the  work  of  about  twenty  Popes,  from  Julius  II.  to  Urban  VIII. 

St.  Paul's  is  the  creation  of  one  mind ;   it  is  one  great  harmonious  conception  ;    it 

was  begun  and  completed,  so  far  as  the  exterior  at  least,  during  the  life  of  that  one  man. 


WEST   FRONT. 


S/.  Paul's.  67 

St.  Peter's  unquestionably,  beyond  its  more  vast  and  imposing  dimensions,  has  some 
insuperable  advantages.  Let  us  imagine  what  would  be  the  effect  of  St.  Paul's,  rising  in 
its  grace  and  majesty,  and  basking  in  the  cloudless  sunlight  of  the  Italian  heavens,  instead 
of  brooding  under  a  dense  and  murky  canopy  of  vapour,  up  to  a  pale  and  lifeless  sky. 
See  too  the  vast  open  area  in  which  St.  Peter's  stands,  with  Bernini's  porticos,  large  enough 
for  effect,  yet  in  humble  subordination  to  the  vast  fabric  which  they  enclose,  with  the 
obelisks  and  fountains,  all  in  fine  proportion.  Even  the  Vatican  on  one  side,  a  picturesque 
pile  of  irregular  buildings,  leaves  the  facade  undisturbed,  and  sets  off  rather  than 
encumbers  the  immense  edifice  to  which  it  is  attached.  But  against  this  might  have  been 
set  the  one  great  advantage  of  which  St.  Paul's  ought  to  have  fullj-  availed  itself  St. 
Paul's,  instead  of  crouching  on  a  flat  level,  stands  on  a  majestic  eminence,  overlooking  the 
city  and  looked  up  to  from  every  part.  It  has  but  one  street  of  approach  ;  alas !  only  a 
narrow  esplanade  before  its  west  front.  The  street,  moreover,  does  not  come  up  bold  and 
straight,  but  wdth  an  awkward  obliquity ;  while  on  all  sides  the  buildings,  which  Wren 
kept  down  to  the  height  of  humble  vassals,  now  aspire  to  be  almost  its  rivals  in  height. 
My  feeling  has  ever  been  a  strong  desire  that  the  giant  could  stretch  itself,  thrust  back 
the  intrusive  magazines  and  warehouses  to  a  respectful  distance,  and  make  itself  a  broad, 
regular,  fine  approach,  and  encircling  space. 

Nevertheless,  what  building  in  its  exterior  form  does  not  bow  its  head  before  St. 
Paul's  ?  What  eye,  trained  to  all  that  is  perfect  in  architecture,  does  not  recognise  the 
inimitable  beauty  of  its  lines,  the  majestic  3'et  air}^  swelling  of  its  dome,  its  rich, 
harmonious  ornamentation  ? 

The  architect  himself  had  the  honour  of  la3'ing  the  first  stone  (June  21,  1675). 
There  was  no  solemn  ceremonial,  neither  the  King,  nor  any  of  the  Court,  nor  the  Primate, 
nor  the  Bishop ;  not  even,  it  should  seem,  was  Dean  Sancroft,  or  the  Lord  ]Ma3'or, 
present. 

On  December  2,  1697,  twentj^-two  j^ears  after  the  laj-ing  of  the  first  stone, 
the  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul  was  opened  for  divine  service.  It  was  a  great  national  pomp 
to  commemorate  an  event  of  the  highest  national  importance,  the  thanksgiving  day 
for  the  Peace  of  Rj-swick.  It  was  an  event,  not  only  of  importance  to  England, 
but  to  Europe,  to  Christendom.  The  Peace  of  Ryswick  ratified  the  enforced  recognition 
of  the  title  of  William  III.  to  the  throne  of  England,  by  his  haughty,  now 
humbled  foe,  the   magnificent  Louis  XIV. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  for  England,  a  glorious  daj'  for  London,  especially  a 
glorious  day  for  Compton,  Bishop  of  London.  It  had  been  proposed  that  the  King 
(Queen  IMary  had,  unhappil}^,  not  lived  to  witness  and  to  share  her  husband's 
triumph)  should  in  person  attend  this  ceremony.  He  was  himself  anxious  to  be 
present.  But  it  was  said,  that  at  least  3CK),ooo  jubilant  people  from  all  quarters  would 
so   throng  the    metropolis,  that  the  King  could  oul}'  with  extreme  difi&culty  make  his 


68 


S/.  Patirs. 


way  to  the  cathedral.  The  city  authorities  appeared  in  all  their  state  and  pomp. 
Bishop  Compton  took  his  seat  on  his  throne,  that  throne,  with  the  whole  of  the  choir, 
rich  with  the  exquisite  carvings  of  Grinling  Gibbons.  For  the  first  time  the  new 
organ  pealed  out  its  glorious  volume  of  sound.  The  Bishop  preached  the  Thanksgiving 
Sermon.  He  took  for  his  text  that  noble  song,  "  I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me.  Let 
us  go  up  into  the  House  of  the  Lord."  Since  that  time  the  services  have  gone  on  uninter- 
ruptedly in  Wren's  St.  Paul's.    The  services,  as  to  their  hours  and  their  order,  have  always 

been  conducted  according  to  the  Or- 
ders then  issued  by  Bishop  Compton. 
Nor  were  services  of  special  thanks- 
giving at  an  end.  Queen  Anne  year 
after  year  went  in  solemn  procession 
to  the  cathedral  of  the  metropolis 
to  commemorate  glorious  victories. 
Seven  times  she  fulfilled  this  wel- 
come duty ;  the  eighth,  she  was  only 
prevented  by  increasing  bodily  in- 
firmity. Anne  ascended  the  throne  of 
England  IMarch  2,  1702  ;  on  Novem- 
ber 12  was  the  jubilant  procession  to 
St.  Paul's  for  the  successes  of  John, 
Earl  of  Marlborough,  in  the  Low 
Countries,  and  for  the  destruction  of 
the  Spanish  fleet  in  the  port  of  Vigo 
by  the  Duke  of  Ormoud  and  Sir 
George  Rooke ;  "burning,"  so  said  the 
proclamation,  "  sinking,  and  taking 
many  ships  of  war,  and  great  riches 
of  their  enemies."  The  Council  de- 
clared that,  the  cathedral  being  for 
that  day  the  Queen's  Chapel  Royal, 
the  seats  were  to  be  disposed  of  and 
all  the  arrangements  made  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain.  The  Queen's  throne  was  "  exactly 
as  in  the  House  of  Lords,"  about  three  feet  higher  than  the  floor  of  the  choir,  covered 
with  a  Persian  carpet,  and  a  canopy  upheld  by  iron  rods  fastened  to  the  organ-loft  above, 
.fifteen  feet  high ;  "  with  an  armed  chair  on  the  throne,  with  a  faldstool  before  it,  and  a 
desk  for  the  Queen's  book,  covered  with  crimson  velvet,  richly  embroidered  and  fringed 
with  gold,  with  a  cushion  thereon  of  the  same.  Some  distance  behind  were  stools  for 
the  Countess  of  Marlborough,  Groom  of  the  Stole,  the  Countess  of  Sunderland,  Lady  of 


ST.    PAUIvS    I'ROM    CHKAPSIDE. 


S/.  PaiiPs. 


69 


the   Bedchamber   in  waiting.     Farther    behind  stood    the  Vicc-Chaniberlain,  with    other 

officers  of  state."     So  ran  the  proclamation.     The  two  Honses  of  Parliament  determined 

to  assist  at  the  ceremony.     The  Lords  resolved  to  sit  in  the  area  or  body  of  the  choir 

as  a  House  of  Lords.     The  Commons  were  to  be  called  over ;  the  Speaker  to  sit  on  the 

seat  where  the  Lord  Bishop  of  London  was  used  to  sit,  in  the  middle  of  the  south  side 

of  the  choir,  with  the  Sergeant- 

at-Arms  and  officers  just  under 

him,  the  members  in  the  stalls 

and  galleries  on  each  side.     The 

Lord     Mayor,     Aldermen,    and 

Sheriffs   sat  in  the  furthermost 

lower  galleries  towards  the  altar; 

their  ladies  had  their  appointed 

seats.       The    foreign    ministers 

and   their  ladies   in    the    middle 

gallery  on  the  north  side.     The 

Bishop  of  London,  Compton,  sat 

on  his  throne  in  the  south-east 

end  of  the  choir.     The  Dean  and 

Prebendaries    on    chairs    within 

the  rails  of  the  altar.    The  choirs 

of    the    Queen's    Chapel    Ro3-al 

and    their   music    in   the    upper 

galleries    on    each    side   of   the 

organ. 

At  II  o'clock  the  Queen 
took  coach  at  St.  James's ;  at 
Temple  Bar  she  was  received  bv 
the  Lord  Ivlaj'or,  Sheriffs,  and 
Aldermen  on  horseback.  The 
Lord  Mayor  surrendered  the 
sword     with     a     short     speech. 

'Tl        ,^  ^  J    V  A    ^^  TEMPLE   BAR. 

1  he  Queen  returned  it,  and  tne 

Lord  Mayor  bore  it   before   her   to   the   church.      On  her  arrival  at  the  west  door  the 

Queen  was  met  by  the  peers  and  principal  officers  of  state,  and  conducted  up  the  nave  to 

her  throne.     She  knelt  at  her  fald-stool,  and  after  a  short  "  ejaculation  "  rose  and  seated 

herself 

Such  was  the  model  and  precedent  for  royal   processions   and   for  royal  receptions 
at  St.  Paul's.     In  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  they  were  repeated  with  glorious  frequency. 


70  S/.  PaiiTs. 

In  the  year  1710,  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  by  the  hands  of  his  son,  attended  by  IMr. 
Strong,  the  master-mason  who  had  executed  the  whole  work,  and  the  body  of  Freemasons 
of  which  Sir  Christopher  was  an  active  member,  laid  the  last  and  highest  stone  of  the 
lantern  of  the  cupola,  with  humble  prayers  for  the  Divine  blessing  on  his  work. 

If  ever  there  was  an  occasion  on  which  the  heart  of  man  might  swell  with 
pardonable  pride,  it  was  the  heart  of  Wren  at  that  hour,  whether  he  himself  was  actually 
at  the  giddy  summit  of  the  building,  or  watched  his  son's  act  from  below.  The  architect 
looked  down,  or  looked  up  and  around,  on  this  great  and  matchless  building,  the  creation 
of  his  own  mind,  the  achievement  of  his  sole  care  and  skill.  The  whole  building 
stretching  out  in  all  its  perfect  harmony,  with  its  fine  horizontal  lines,  various,  yet  in 
perfect  unison,  its  towers,  its  unrivalled  dome,  its  crowning  lantern  and  cross.  All 
London  had  poured  forth  for  the  spectacle,  which  had  been  publicl}'  announced,  and 
were  looking  up  in  wonder  to  the  old  man,  or  his  son  if  not  the  old  man  himself,  who 
was,  on  that  wondrous  height,  setting  the  seal,  as  it  were,  to  his  august  labors. 

Wren  descended  from  this  lofty  elevation,  or  awoke  from  his  ennobling 
contemplation,  not  to  meet  with  homage,  not  with  ardent  admiration,  not  with 
merited  gratitude  from  the  Church,  the  city,  the  nation,  for  his  wonderful  work,  but 
to  encounter  petty  yet  presumptuous  jealous}^,  injustice,  hostility,  even — the  word 
must  be  spoken — unprovoked  malignity,  and  finally  absolute  degradation,  as  far  as 
mean  men  could  degrade  one  like  Wren. 

Yet,  everywhere  but  at  St.  Paul's,  Wren  was  at  the  undisputed  height  of  his  power 
and  influence.  No  great  building  could  be  erected  or  remodelled  without  the  judgement, 
skill,  and  science  of  Wren :  Greenwich  Hospital,  Chelsea  Hospital,  Hampton  Court, 
not  a  few  of  the  most  important  churches  in  London  and  Westminster  (as  St.  James's, 
Westminster),  the  great  country  houses  of  the  nobility,  as  Audley  End.  Westminster 
Abbey,  the  rival  of  St.  Paul's,  was  placed  under  his  care. 

The  first  point  of  dispute  between  Wren  and  the  clergy  was  the  prolongation 
of  the  fabric  from  a  Greek  to  a  Latin  cross.  The  second  was,  later,  on  the  position  of  the 
organ  and  the  organ-gallery.  In  this,  I  apprehend.  Wren  was  as  unquestionably  right 
on  the  principles  of  music  as  on  those  of  his  own  science,  architecture.  The  more 
remote  the  organ  from  the  choristers,  the  more  difficult  to  keep  the  accompaniment  and 
the  chant  together  with  that  perfect  harmony  which  is  perhaps  only  perceptible  to  ears 
finely  gifted  and  susceptibly  instructed. 

The  clergy  insisted  on  the  enclosure  of  the  choir,  no  doubt  partly  for  their  own 
comfort  and  secluded  dignit3^  Whether  Wren  designed  any  screen,  or  to  what  height 
that  screen  was  to  rise,  does  not  appear.  But  he  was  compelled  to  submit,  and,  contrary 
to  his  judgement,  to  place  the  organ  and  organ-gallery  upon  the  screen.  The  organ  now 
stands  under  the  north-east  arch  of  the  choir,  exactly  where  Wren  proposed  to  place  it, 
as  is  shown  in  a  drawing  recently  discovered. 


5/.  PauPs.  73 

Wren  had  designed  to  nse  mosaics  largely  in  the  internal  decoration,  the  only  safe 
and  durable  material  except  gilding  (and  some  of  Wren's  gilding  comes  out,  when 
burnished  and  cleaned,  as  bright  as  ever).  But  mosaic,  imperishable,  and  that  might  be 
easily  washed,  would  have  defied  time  and  the  smoke  of  London.  Mosaic,  however,  was 
judged  too  costly,  and  skilful  artists  were  not  immediately  at  hand.  I  hardly  doubt  but 
that  Wren  would  have  found  or  formed  artists,  had  he  beeu  allowed  free  scope  and 
ample  means. 

But  now  the  hostility  of  the  Commissioners  became  more  and  more  declared. 
I  would  willingly  draw  a  veil  over  the  shame  of  my  predecessors ;  but  the  inexorable 
duty  of  the  historian  forbids  all  disguise,  all  reticence.  The  final  overt  act  was  violent, 
wrongful,  insulting.  There  had  been  some  murmurs  in  Parliament  at  the  slow  progress 
of  the  cathedral  to  its  completion.  With  due  deference,  there  could  be  no  tribunal  so 
unfit  to  judge  of  such  matters,  so  ignorant,  or  so  ignorant  of  its  ignorance,  as  the  House 
of  Commons. 

However  this  may  be,  a  clause  had  crept  into  the  Act  of  Parliament  that,  until  the 
work  should  be  finished,  a  moiety  of  his  salary  should  be  withheld  from  the  survej-or. 
The  Commissioners  proceeded  at  once  to  carry  this  hard  clause  into  effect.  This  was  not 
only  a  hardship  but  a  tacit  imputation  that  the  architect  was  delaying  the  completion  of 
the  work  for  his  own  emolument. 

The  immediate  cause  of  the  dispute  between  the  Commissioners  and  the  architect 
was  now  the  iron  enclosure.  Wren  would  have  kept  the  fence  low,  but  the  Commis- 
sioners, utterly  blind  to  the  architectural  effect,  proud  of  their  heavy,  clumsy,  misplaced 
fence,  described  Sir  Christopher's  design  as  mean  and  weak,  boasted  that  their  own  met 
with  general  approbation,  and  so  left  the  cathedral  compressed  in  its  gloomy  gaol.  Wren 
was  not  restored  to  his  uncontested  supremacy. 

That  the  Commissioners  should  conceive  that  they  could  finish  Wren's  glorious 
building  better  than  Wren  himself;  that  they  should  issue  their  peremptory  mandate, 
giving  Wren  but  a  fortnight  for  consideration  and  reply  to  their  dictates — is  scarcely  to  be 
credited  except  from  their  own  words.  "  I  have  considered,"  writes  Wren,  "  the 
resolution  of  the  honourable  Commissioners  for  adorning  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  dated 
October  15,  1717,  and  brought  to  me  on  the  21st,  importing  that  a  balustrade  of  stone  be 
set  up  on  the  top  of  the  church." 

He  cannot  conceal  or  disguise  his  contempt :  it  breaks  out  in  a  few  sentences. 
"  In  observance  of  this  resolution,  I  take  leave  to  declare,  I  never  designed  a  balustrade. 
Persons  of  little  skill  in  architecture  did  expect,  I  believe,  to  see  something  they  had  been 
used  to  in  Gothic  structures,  and  ladies  think  nothing  zvcll  luithout  an  edging.  I  should 
gladly  have  complied  with  the  vulgar  taste,  but  I  suspended  for  the  reasons  following." 
He  proceeds  to  give  his  reasons,  which,  expressed  in  architectural  terms,  were  probably 
not  very  intelligible  to  his  adversaries  or  his  masters. 


74 


Sf.  PauPs. 


But  even  this  was  not  the  worst.  It  can  hardly  have  been  without  the  sanction,  if 
not  through  the  direct  influence  of  the  Commissioners,  that,  the  following  year,  Wren,  in  the 
eighty-sixth  year  of  his  age,  the  forty-ninth  of  his  office,  being  still  in  full  possession  of 
his  wonderful  faculties,  was  ignominiously  dismissed  from  his  office  of  Surveyor  of  Public 
Works.  But  Wren  had  consolation  in  his  sorrows.  He  retired  to  a  house  at  Hampton 
Court,  within  view  of  another  of  his  works.  "  He  then  betook  himself  to  a 
country  retirement,  saying  only,  with  the  stoic,  'Nunc  me  jubet  fortuna  expeditius 
philosophari.' "     He  resumed  his  philosophical  studies  with  as  great  delight  as  ever.     The 

author  of  the  "  Parentalia "  goes  on 
to  say :  "  Free  from  worldly  cares,  he 
passed  the  greatest  part  of  the  five 
last  following  years  of  his  life  (he 
lived  to  ninety-two),  in  contemplation 
and  studies,  and  principally  in  the 
consolation  of  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
cheerful  in  solitude,  and  well  pleased 
to  die  in  the  shade  as  in  the  light." 

Beside  the  ovational  pomps  St. 
Paul's  witnessed  a  peaceful,  civil  funeral 


procession,  to  which  nevertheless  her 
gates  were  readily  opened.  Already  in 
the  place  of  honour,  the  extreme  east 
of  the  crypt,  reposed  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  Sir  Christopher  Wren. 

At  the  feet  of  Wren  repose  a 
long  line  of  the  artists  who  have  done 
honour  to  England. 

On    March    3,    1792,    with    an 

almost    royal    procession    of   nearly   a 

hundred    carriages,    the    body    of   Sir 

Joshua  Reynolds  was  conveyed  to  the 

cathedral.      The   highest   Peers   begged  for  the  honour  of  being  his   pall-bearers.     The 

Academy  forgot  all  the  grievances  with  which  they  had  vexed  the  later  years  of  Reynolds, 

in  their  deep  and  reverential  sorrow. 

It  was  Turner's  dying  request  that  he  might  repose  as  near  as  possible  to  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds.  This  request  was  granted  without  hesitation.  There  was  a  wild  story 
that  Turner,  in  one  of  his  fits  of  ill  humour  with  the  world,  had  willed  that  he  should  be 
buried  in  his  "  Carthage  "  as  a  shroud.  Had  this  been  done  I  fear  that  his  tomb  would 
not   have    remained    long   inviolate.     Happily    the    Dean   had   not   to    succumb    to    the 


THE   CRYPT. 


AlyTAR   AND   REREDO& 


^V.  PauVs. 


17 


temptation  of  at  least  tacitly  couniving  at  a  crime  like  that  of  the  saint-worshippers  of 
old,  who  broke  open  their  tombs  for  less  valuable  plunder — plunder  which  the  world 
might  have  better  spared   than  Turner's   "  Carthage." 

The  great  sculptors,  Flaxman,  Chantrey,  Westmacott,  sleep  elsewhere.  There 
had  long  been  a  low  murmur  among  intelligent  men,  which  grew  at  length  into  a  loud 
acclamation,  that  St.  Paul's  might  fitly  become  a  Valhalla  for  English  worthies.  It  is 
highly  to  the  honour  of  St.  Paul's  that  the  first  triumph  over  this  inveterate  prejudice  was 
extorted  by  admiration  of  the  highest  Christian  charity.  The  first  statue  admitted  at  St. 
Paul's  was  not  that  of  statesman,  warrior,  or  even  of  sovereign  ;  it  was  that  of  John 
Howard,  the  pilgrim,  not  to  gorgeous  shrines  of  saints  and  martyrs,  not  even  to  holj^ 
lands,  but  to  the  loathsome  depths  and  darkness  of  the  prisons  throughout  what  called 
itself  the  civilized  world. 

Perhaps  no  man  has  assuaged  so  much  human  misery  as  John  Howard ;  and  John 
Howard  rightly  took  his  place  at  one  corner  of  the  Dome  of  St.  Paul's,  the  genuine 
Apostle  of  Him  among  whose  titles  to  our  veneration  and  love  not  the  least  befitting,  not 
the  least  glorious,  was  that  "  he  went  about  doing  good."  The  ice  of  prejudice  was 
broken  ;  the  example  was  soon  followed.  The  second  statue,  at  the  earnest  urgency  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  was  that  of  Samuel  Johnson.  Though  Johnson  was  buried  in 
the  Abbey  among  his  brother  men  of  letters,  yet  there  was  a  singular  propriety  in  the 
erection  of  Johnson's  statue  in  St.  Paul's.  Among  the  most  frequent  p.nd  regular 
communicants  at  the  altar  of  the  cathedral  might  be  seen  a  man  whose  ungainly 
gestures  and  contortions  of  countenance  evinced  his  profound  awe,  reverence,  and 
satisfaction  at  that  awful  mystery  ;  this  was  Samuel  Johnson,  who  on  all  the  great 
festivals  wandered  up  from  his  humble  lodgings  in  Bolt  Court,  or  its  neighbourhood, 
to  the  cathedral.  Johnson  might  be  well  received  as  the  representative  of  the 
literature  of  England.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  took  the  third  place,  as  the  master  in 
our  fine  arts.  The  fourth  was  adjudged  to  that  remarkable  man.  Sir  W.  Jones, 
the  first  who  opened  the  treasures  of  Oriental  learning,  the  poetry  and  wisdom  of 
our   Indian    Empire,    to   wondering    Europe. 

The  great  work  of  the  revolution  began.  One  triumph  broke  down  and  swept 
away  any  lingering  reluctance  (if  there  was  still  reluctance)  to  people  the  walls  of 
St.  Paul's  with  cenotaphs  or  statues  to  our  great  men.  Our  victorious  admirals 
and  generals  imperatively  demanded  places  of  honour  for  their  names  and  memory. 
Parliament,  to  whose  omnipotence  the  clergy  could  not  bow  at  once,  issued  its  commands ; 
and,  perhaps  with  ill-judging  but  honourably  prodigal  liberality,  voted  large  sums  for 
monuments,  which  could  not  be  expended  but  on  vast  masses  of  marble,  more  to  the 
advantage  of  the  artists  than  to  their  sublime  art.  Fames  and  \'ictories,  and  all  kinds 
of  unmeaning  allegories,  gallant  men  fighting  and  dying  in  every  conceivable  or  hardly 
conceivable  attitude,  rose  on  every  side,  on  every  wall,  under  everj'^  arch. 


78 


SL  PcmPs. 


The  funeral  of  Nelson  was  a  signal  day  in  the  annals  of  St.  Paul's.  The  cathedral 
opened  wide  her  doors  to  receive  the  remains  of  the  great  admiral,  followed,  it  might 
almost  be  said,  by  the  whole  nation  as  mourners.  The  death  of  Nelson  in  the  hour 
of  victory,  of  Nelson  whose  victories  at  Aboukir  and  Copenhagen  had  raised  his  name 

above  any  other  in  our  naval  his- 
tory, had  stirred  the  English  heart 
to  its  depths,  its  depths  of  pride 
and  of  sorrow.  The  manifest  re- 
sult of  that  splendid  victory  at 
Trafalgar  was  the  annihilation  of 
the  fleets  of  France  and  Spain,  and 
it  might  seem  the  absolute  conquest 
of  the  ocean,  held  for  many  years 
as  a  subject  province  of  Great 
Britain.  The  procession,  first  by 
water,  then  by  land,  was  of  course 
magnificent,  at  least  as  far  as 
prodigal  cost  could  command  mag- 
nificence. 

The  body  was  preceded  to  St. 
Paul's  by  all  that  was  noble  and 
distinguished  in  the  land,  more 
immediately  by  all  the  Princes  of 
the  blood  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 
The  chief  mourner  was  the  Admiral 
of  the  Fleet,  Sir  Peter  Parker.  The 
place  of  interment  was  under  the 
centre  of  the  dome.  As  a  youth 
I  was  present,  and  remember  the 
solemn  effect  of  the  sinking  of  the 
cofiBn.  I  heard,  or  fancied  that  I 
heard,  the  low  wail  of  the  sailors 
who  bore  and  encircled  the  remains 
of  their  admiral. 

By  a  singular  chance,  the  body  of  Nelson  is  deposited  in  a  sarcophagus  in  which 
Cardinal  Wolsey  expected  to  repose.  It  was  designed  and  executed  for  Wolsey  by 
the  famous  Torregiano.  It  lay  for  centuries  neglected  in  Wolsey's  Chapel  at  Windsor. 
Just  at  this  time,  George  III.  was  preparing  to  make  that  chapel  a  cemetery  for  his 
family.     What  was  to  be  done  with  what  had  been  thrown  aside  as  useless  lumber? 


MONUMENT  TO  NELSON. 


S/.  Paiil'x.  79 

It  was  suggested  as  fit  to  encase  the  coffin  of  Nelson.  It  is  a  fine  work,  marred 
iu  its  bold  simplicity  by  some  tawdry  coronets,  but  the  master  Italian  hand  is  at 
once    recognised    by    the    instructed    eye. 

On  each  side  of  Nelson  repose  the  vanguard  and  rearguard  of  Trafalgar, 
Collingwood   and   Lord   Northesk. 

Opposite  to  the  monument  of  Nelson  stands  that  of  one  who  may  well 
open  the  roll  of  those  great  men  who  have  administered  our  mighty  empire,  or 
devoted  their  lives  to  the  service  of  their  country.  To  few  would  the  Valhalla  of 
England  open  her  gates  with  greater  alacrity  and  pride  than  to  the  Marquis  Corn- 
wallis.  The  career  of  Cornwallis  began  in  disaster  but  not  iu  ignominy.  The 
ignominy  of  his  defeat  in  the  American  War  belongs  to  the  rulers  of  England, 
not  to  the  general  who  failed  in  achieving  an  impossible  task.  In  the  defeat  of 
Cornwallis,  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  an  impeachment  on  the  courage  of  the 
soldier   or    the    conduct    of   the    general. 

Of  our  earlier  Indian  warriors  we  have  only  one.  General  Gillespie,  who  fell 
before  an  obscure  fortress  on  the  frontiers  of  Nepaul.  The  latest,  not  least  distin- 
guished, of  our  Indian  heroes  is  Sir  Henry  Lawrence,  a  name  gloriously  connected 
with  the  most  terrible  crisis  which  seemed  to  strike  our  empire  to  its  base.  The 
dark  history  of  Lucknow  is  inseparably  bound  up  with  the  name  of  Sir  Henry 
Lawrence.  His  death  is  the  saddest,  at  the  same  time  the  most  noble,  deed  of 
those   disastrous   days. 

We  have  two  also  who  aspired  to  be  not  the  civil  but  the  religious  con- 
querors of  India,  her  first  two  Bishops.  Middleton  was  a  scholar,  perhaps  hardly 
the  man,  notwithstanding  his  many  excellent  qualities,  for  such  an  enterprise.  His 
successor,  Reginald  Heber,  my  early  friend,  by  the  foot  of  whose  statue  I  pass  so 
often,  not  without  emotion,  to  our  services,  had  he  not  beeu  cut  off  by  untimely 
death,  might  by  his  love-winning  Christianity,  his  genius  and  devoted  zeal,  have 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  natives,  as  he  did  on  the  Anglo-Indian  mind.  None 
was  ever  marked  so  strongly  for  a  missionary  bishop  iu  the  fabled  and  romantic  East 
as   Reginald  Heber. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  I,  who  as  an  undistinguished  boy  witnessed  the 
burial  of  Lord  Nelson,  should  officiate,  as  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  at  the  funeral  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington. 

The  funeral  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  lives  in  the  memory  of  most  of  the 
present  generation.  Nothing  could  be  more  impressive  than  the  sad,  silent  reverence 
of  the  whole  people  of  London,  of  all  orders  and  classes,  as  the  procession  passed  through 
the  streets.     But  this  concerns  not  St.   Paul's. 

The  scene  under  the  dome  (for  under  the  dome  the  ceremony  was  to  take  place) 
was   in  the  highest  degree   imposing.     The    two    Houses    of    Parliament   assembled    in 


go  S/.  PauVs. 

full  numbers.  On  the  north  side  of  the  area  the  House  of  Commons ;  behind  these, 
filling  up  the  north  transept,  the  Civic  authorities,  the  City  Companies,  and  the 
members  of  the  Corporation.  On  the  south  side  of  the  area,  the  Peers ;  behind  them, 
the  clergy  of  the  cathedral,  and  their  friends.  The  foreign  ambassadors  sat  on  seats 
extending  to  the  organ  gallery.  Every  arcade,  every  available  space,  was  crowded ; 
from  12,000  to  15,000  persons  (it  was  difi&cult  closely  to  calculate)  were  present.  The 
body  was  received  by  the  Bishop  and  the  Dean,  and  the  Clergy,  with  the  choir,  at 
the  west  door,  and  conducted  to  the  central  area  under  the  dome,  on  which  shone  down 
the  graceful  coronal  of  light  which  encircled  the  dome  under  the  Whispering  Gallery. 
The  pall  was  borne  by  eight  of  the  most  distinguished  General-Officers  who  had 
survived  the  wars  of  their  great  commander,  or  other  glorious  wars  in  which  their 
country  had  been  engaged.  The  chief  mourner  was,  of  course,  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
with  the  Prince  Consort,  and  others  of  the  royal  family. 

The  prayers  and  lessons  were  read  by  the  Dean.  And  here  must  be  a  final 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren.  Of  all  architects.  Wren  alone, 
either  from  intuition  or  from  philosophic  discernment,  has  penetrated  the  abstruse 
mysteries  of  acoustics,  has  struck  out  the  laws  of  the  propagation  of  sound.  I  have 
been  assitred,  on  the  highest  musical  authority,  that  there  is  no  building  in  Europe 
equal  for  sound  to  St.  Paul's.  My  voice  was  accordingly  heard  distinctly  in  every 
part  of  the  building,  up  to  the  western  gallery,  by  the  many  thousands  present, 
though  the  whole  was  deadened  by  walls  of  heavy  black  cloth  which  lined  every 
part.  Nothing  could  be  imagined  more  solemn  than  the  responses  of  all  the  thousands 
present,  who  repeated,  as  had  been  suggested,  the  words  of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  It 
fulfilled  the  sublime  biblical  phrase,  "  Like  the  roar  of  many  waters,"  only  that  it 
was  clear  and  distinct ;    the  sad,   combined   prayer,   as  it  were,   of   the  whole  nation. 

The  gradual  disappearance  of  the  coffin,  as  it  slowly  sunk  into  the  vault  below, 
was  a  sight  which  will  hardly  pass  away  from  the  memory  of  those  who  witnessed  it. 

And  so,  not  by  the  side,  but  in  his  own  alcove,  in  the  chapel  prepared  in 
his  honour,  rested  with  Nelson  he  who,  as  Nelson  closed  the  naval  triumphs,  closed, 
over  a  far  mightier  adversary,  the  military  campaigns  of  the  great  European  wars. 

The  sarcophagus  which,  after  some  time,  was  prepared  to  receive  the  remains 
of  Wellington,  was  in  perfect  character  with  that  great  man.  A  mass  of  Cornish 
porphyry,  wrought  in  the  simplest  and  severest  style,  unadorned,  and  because 
unadorned  more  grand  and  impressive ;  in  its  grave  splendour,  and,  it  might  seem, 
time-defjang  solidity,  emblematic  of  him  who,  unlike  most  great  men,  the  more  he 
is  revealed  to  posterity,  shows  more  substantial,  unboastful,  unquestionable  greatness. 

The  death  of  Dean  Milman  caused  the  abrupt  termination  of  the  account  of  St.  Paul's. 


DIGNITARIES. 


DEAN  CHURCH. 


RICHARD  WILLIAM  CHUPXH,  M.  A.  D.  C.  L. 

RICHARD  WILLIAIM  CHURCH,  M.  A.,  D.  C.  L.,  late  Dean  of  vSt.  Paul's,  was 
boru  at  Lisbon  in  1815,  and  spent  much  of  his  early  life  in  the  south  of 
Europe,  becoming  an  eminent  Italian  scholar,  as  evinced  in  his  charming  study 
of  Dante.  He  had  a  ver}^  distinguished  career  at  the  University  of  Oxford,  becoming 
a  fellow  of  Oriel  College  in  1S36.  September  6,  1S71,  he  became  Dean  of  St. 
Paul's.  His  erection  of  the  reredos  in  that  cathedral  gave  rise  to  much  controversy 
and  litigation.  As  Dean  he  initiated  the  preaching  services  which  have  become  so 
popular,  thousands  of  persons  of  all  ranks  and  conditions  crowding  the  great  cathe- 
dral to  hear  Canon  Liddon  and  other  pulpit  orators.  Dean  Church  was  a  leading 
member  and  almost  the  last  prominent  survivor  of  the  Tractarian  party,  and  his 
history  of  the  Oxford  movement  has  great  value  in  consequence.  His  style  was  re- 
markable for  purity  of  English,  and  his  high  critical  powers  and  blended  poetr}^  and 
philosophy  enabled  him  to  invest  with  a  light  new  to  English  e3'es  the  career  of 
Saint   Anselm,  the   period  and   work   of    Dante,  and  the    Christianising   of   the   empire. 

(83) 


HENRY  PARRY  LIDDON,  D.  D. 

ALAS!  one  great  charm  of  St.  Paul's  has  gone.  The  eloquent  voice  of  Henry 
Parry  Liddon  is  stilled  in  death,  and  can  no  more  entrance  the  listening 
thousands  from  that  pulpit  under  the  cathedral  dome,  where  for  twenty  years 
lie  held  almost  unchallenged  the  position  of  the  greatest  preacher  of  the  age. 
Though  for  a  few  years  principal  of  the  theological  school  at  Cuddesdon,  where  his 
gifts  as  an  expositor  of  Scripture,  his  piety,  and  his  delightful  companionship  gave 
him  exceptional  influence  over  the  students,  his  vocation  in  life  was  preaching.  As 
Curate  of  Wantage,  as  Principal  of  St.  Edmund's  Hall,  Oxford,  as  select  preacher  to 
the  University,  and  as  Canon  of  St.  Paul's,  he  gave  himself  and  his  rare  talent  to 
the  work  of  the  pulpit  with  unrestrained  energy.  His  sermons  were  characterised  by 
passionate  fervour,  deep  devotion  and  intensity  of  conviction,  a  choice  felicity  of  lan- 
guage and  supreme  rhetorical  powers.  The  matter  of  the  sermon  was  generally 
quite  simple ;  it  was  confined  to  the  elemental  doctrines  of  the  faith.  He  spent  him- 
self in  the  efifort  simply  to  prove  and  persuade  men  to  believe  the  faith  once  de- 
livered to  the  saints.  To  this  eifort  everything  in  him  contributed — his  charm  of 
feature,  his  exquisite  intonation,  his  kindling  eye,  his  quivering  pose  and  gestures, 
his  fiery  sarcasm,  his  rich  humour,  his  delicate  knowledge  of  the  heart,  and  his 
argumentative  skill.  Possibly  his  greatest  work,  and  that  by  which  he  will  be 
longest  remembered,  is  the  course  of  Bampton  Lectures  "  On  the  Divinity  of  Our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,"  delivered  in  iS66,  which  have  gone  through  fifteen 
editions,  been   translated  into    German,  and  remain    the    text-book    on   the   subject. 

(84) 


CANON   LIDDON. 


CANTERBURY   CATHEDRAL. 


CANTERBURY. 


THE  LANDING  OF  AUGUSTINE  AND  CONVERSION  OF  ETHELBERT. 

INHERE  are  five  great  landings  in  English  history,  each  of  vast  importance — 
the  landing  of  Julius  Caesar,  which  first  revealed  us  to  the  civilised  world, 
and  the  civilised  world  to  us ;  the  landing  of  Hengist  and  Horsa,  which  gave 
us  our  English  forefathers  and  our  English  characters  ;  the  landing  of  Augustine, 
which  gave  us  our  Latin  Christianity ;  the  landing  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
which  gave  us  our  Norman  aristocracy ;  the  landing  of  William  III.,  which  gave 
us  our  free  constitution.  Of  these  five  landings,  the  three  first  and  most  important 
were    formerly    all    supposed    to    have    taken    place    in    Kent. 

Ebbe's  Fleet  is  still  the  name  of  a  farm-house  on  a  strip  of  high  ground 
rising  out  of  Minster  Marsh,  and  3'ou  see  at  a  glance  that  it  must  once  have 
been  a  headland  or  promontory  running  out  into  the  sea  between  the  two  inlets 
of  the  estuary  of  the  Stour  on  one  side,  and  Pegwell  Bay  on  the  other.  Here  it 
was  that  Augustine  came  with  his  monks,  his  choristers,  and  the  interpreters  they 
had  brought  with  them  from  France.  Augustine  landed  there  that  he  might  remain 
safe  on  that  side  the  broad  river  till  he  knew  the  mind  of  the  King.  The  rock  was 
long  preserved  on  which  he  set  foot,  and  which,  according  to  a  superstition  found  in 
almost    every  country,  was  supposed    to  have  received  the  impression  of  his  footmark. 

To  Ethelbert,  the  King,  we  must  now  turn.  To  consolidate  his  power  he  had 
married  Bertha,  a  French  princess,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Paris.  It  was  on  this 
marriage  that  all  the  subsequent  fate  of  England  turned.  Ethelbert  was,  like  all  the 
Saxons,  a  heathen;  but  Bertha,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  French  royal  family  from 
Clovis  downwards,  was  a  Christian.  It  is  probable  that  Ethelbert  had  heard  enough 
from  Bertha  to  dispose  him  favorably  towards  the  new  religion ;  but  Ethelbert's 
conduct  on  hearing  that  the  strangers  were  actually  arrived  was  still  hesitating.  He 
would  not  suffer  them  to  come  to  Canterbur}' ;  they  were  to  remain  in  the  Isle  of 
Thanet  with  the  Stour  flowing  between  himself  and  them ;  and  he  also  stipulated  that 
on  no  account  should  they  hold  their  first  interview  under  a  roof — it  must  be  in  the 
open  air,  for  fear  of  the  charms  and  spells  he  feared  they  might  exercise  over  him. 

(89) 


90 


Cantiibiiry. 


The  meeting  must  have  been  remarkable.  The  Saxon  King,  "  the  Son  of  the 
Ash-tree,"  with  his  wild  soldiers  round,  seated  on  the  bare  ground  on  one  side — on 
the  other  side,  with  a  huge  silver  cross  borne  before  him  (crucifixes  were  not  yet 
introduced),  and  beside  it  a  large  picture  of  Christ  painted  and  gilded  after  the 
fashion  of  those  times,  on  an  upright  board,  came  up  from  the  shore  Augustine 
and  his  companions,  chanting,  as  they  advanced,  a  solemn  Litany  for  themselves 
and  for  the  others.  Augustine  first  delivered  his  message,  which  the  dragoman,  as 
they  would   say  in  the  East,   explained   to  the  King. 

The    King    heard    it    all    attentivel}',    and    then    gave    this    most    characteristic 


iK9fi4J 

Wd 

j^ 

'mm 

wm-^sm 

w^ 

|.J 

^^^' "'" 

V 

f 

^ 

-  "*'^    "* 

'■f^ 


^_^,jr^->  i_: 


ST.    JIARTIX'S    CIIUKCH. 


answer,  bearing  upon  it  a  stamp  of  truth  which  it  is  impossible  to  doubt :  "  Your 
words  are  fair,  and  your  promises ;  but  because  they  are  new  and  doubtful,  I 
cannot  give  my  assent  to  them,  and  leave  the  customs  which  I  have  so  long 
observed,  with  the  whole  Anglo-Saxon  race.  But  because  you  have  come  hither  as 
strangers  from  a  long  distance,  and  as  I  seem  to  myself  to  have  seen  clearly  that 
what  you  yourselves  believe  to  be  true  and  good  you  wish  to  impart  to  us,  we 
do  not  wish  to  molest  you ;  nay,  rather  we  are  anxious  to  receive  you  hospitably, 
and  to  give  you  all  that  is  needed  for  your  support,  nor  do  we  hinder  you  from 
joining  all  whom  you  can  to  the  faith  of  your  religion."  Such  an  answer,  simple  as 
it  was,  really  seems  to  contain  the  seeds  of  all  that  is  excellent  in  the  English  character. 


Canterbury. 


91 


From    tlie    Isle  of    Thanet,  the   missionaries    crossed    the    broad    ferry  to  Rich- 
borough.     Underneath    the    overhanging    cliff   of  the  castle,  so    the    tradition    ran,  the 
King  received    the    missionaries.     They  then  advanced    to    Canterbury  by  the    Roman 
road    over  St.  IMartin's  Hill.     The  first    object    that  would  catch    their  view  would    be 
the    little    British    chapel    of    St.    Martin — a    welcome    sight,     as    showing    that    the 
Christian  faith  was    not  wholly 
strange  to  this  new  land.     And 
then,  in  the  valley  below,  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  appeared  the 
city — the  rude  wooden  city  as  it 
then  was — embosomed  in  thick- 
ets.    In   St.  IMartin's  they  wor- 
shipped ;  and  no  doubt  the  mere 
splendour  and  strangeness  of  the 
Roman    ritual    produced    an    in- 
stant effect  on  the   rude  barba- 
rian mind.     And  now  came  the 
turning-point  of  their  whole  mis- 
sion, the  baptism  of  Ethelbert. 
We  know  the    da}^ — it  was  the 
Feast  of   Whit-Sunday — on  the 
2d  of  June,  in   the  year  of  our 
Lord  597.     Unfortunately  we  do 
not     with     certainty     know    the 
place.       Still,     as     St.     Martin's 
Church     is     described     as     the 
scene    of  Augustine's    ministra- 
tions, and,  amongst  other  points, 
of  his  administration  of  baptism, 
it  is  in  the  highest  degree  prob- 
able that    the  local    tradition    is 
correct.     i\.nd  although  the  ven- 
erable     font,     which     is     there 
shown  as  that  in  which  he  was 
baptised,    is    proved    by   its    appearance   to   be,    at   least    in    its    upper   part,    of  a   later 
date,  yet   it   is  so   like    that  which  appears    in    the   representation  of  the  event  in  the 
seal  of  St.   Augustine's   Abbey,  and  is  in  itself  so  remarkable,  that  we  may  perhaps 
fairly  regard    it    as  a  monument  of  the    event.     The    conversion  of  a  King  was    then 
of  more  importance  than  it  has  ever  been  before  or  since.     The  baptism  of  any  one 


BAPTISM.\L   FONT,  ST.   MARTIN  S   CHURCH. 


92 


Cantcrbiirv- 


of  these  barbarian  chiefs  almost  inevitably  involved  the  baptism  of  the  whole  tribe, 
and  therefore  we  are  not  to  be  snrprised  at  finding  that  when  this  step  was  once 
achieved,  all  else  was  easy. 

The  next  stage  of  the  mission  carries  us  to  another  spot.  Midway  between 
St.  Martin's  and  the  town  was  another  ancient  building — also,  it  would  appear,  al- 
though this  is  less  positively  stated,  once  a  British  church,  but  now  used  by  Ethel- 
bert   as    a    temple    in  which    to   worship    the    gods    of  Saxon    paganism.     This    temple 

Ethelbert  did  not  destroy,  but  made 
over  to  Augustine  for  a  regular  place 
of  Christian  worship.  Augustine  dedi- 
cated the  place  to  St.  Pancras,  and  it 
became  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras,  of 
which  the  spot  is  still  indicated  by 
a  ruined  arch  of  ancient  brick,  and  by 
the  fragment  of  a  wall. 

But  Ethelbert  was  not  satisfied 
with  establishing  those  places  of  wor- 
ship outside  the  city.  Augustine  was 
now  formally  consecrated  as  the  first 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  Ethel- 
bert determined  to  give  him  a  dwelling- 
place  and  a  house  of  prayer  within  the 
city  also,  and  gave  up  his  own  palace 
and  an  old  British  or  Roman  church  in 
its  neighbourhood,  to  be  the  seat  of  the 
new  archbishop  and  the  foundation  of 
the  new  cathedral. 

As  St.  Martin's  and  St.  Pan- 
cras's  witnessed  the  first  beginning  of 
English  Christianity,  so  Canterbury 
Cathedral  is  the  earliest  monument  of 
an  English  Church  Establishment — of  the  English  constitution  of  the  union  of  Church 
and  State.  Of  the  actual  building  of  this  first  cathedral,  nothing  now  remains ;  yet 
there  is  much,  even  now,  to  remind  us  of  it.  First,  there  is  the  venerable  chair, 
in  which,  for  so  many  generations,  the  primates  of  England  have  been  enthroned, 
and  which,  though  probably  of  a  later  date,  may  yet  rightly  be  called  "  St.  Augus- 
tine's Chair."  Finally,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras,  where  he 
had  first  begun  to  perform  Christian  service,  Ethelbert  granted  to  Augustine  the 
ground   on    which    was    to   be  built   the    monastery  that   afterwards    grew  up   into   the 


ST.   AUGUSTINE'S   CHAIR. 


Can/nhiiry.  93 

great  abbey  called  by  his  name.  His  last  act  at  Canterburj',  of  which  we  can  sj)eak 
witli  certainty,  was  his  consecration  of  two  monks  who  had  been  sent  out  after  liim 
by  Gregory  to  two  new  sees — two  new  steps  farther  into  tlie  country,  still  under 
the  shelter  of  Ethelbert.  Justus  became  Bishop  of  Rochester,  and  Mellitus  Bishop 
of  Loudon.  The  arrival  of  Augustine  explains  to  us  at  once  why  the  primate  of 
this  great  Church,  the  first  subject  of  this  great  empire,  should  be  Archbishop  not  of 
London,  but  of  Canterbury.  Humble  as  Canterbury  may  now  be — "  Kent  itself  but  a 
corner  of  England,  and  Canterbury  seated  in  a  corner  of  that  corner  " — 5'et  so  long  as  an 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  exists,  so  long  as  the  Church  of  England  exists,  Canterbury 
can  never  forget  that  it  had  the  glory  of  being  the  cradle  of  English  Christianity. 

Let  any  one  sit  on  the  hill  of  the  little  Church  of  St.  Martin,  and  look  on 
the  view  which  is  there  spread  before  his  eyes.  Immediatelj'  below  are  the  towers 
of  the  great  Abbey  of  St.  Augustine,  where  Christian  learning  and  civilisation  first 
struck  root  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  race ;  and  within  which  now,  after  a  lapse  of  many 
centuries,  a  new  institution  has  arisen,  intended  to  carry  far  and  wide  to  countries 
of  which  Gregory  and  Augustine  never  heard,  the  blessings  which  they  gave  to  us. 
Carry  your  view  on — and  there  rises  high  above  all  the  magnificent  pile  of  our 
cathedral,  equal  in  splendour  and  state  to  any,  the  noblest  temple  or  church  that 
Augustine  could  have  seen  in  ancient  Rome,  rising  on  the  very  ground  which  de- 
rives its  consecration  from  him.  And  still  more  than  the  grandeur  of  the  outward 
buildings  that  rose  from  the  little  church  of  Augustine  and  the  little  palace  of  Eth- 
elbert, have  been  the  institutions  of  all  kinds,  of  which  these  were  the  earliest  cradle. 
From  Canterbury,  the  first  English  Christian  city ;  from  Kent,  the  first  English 
Christian  kingdom — has,  by  degrees,  arisen  the  whole  constitution  of  Church  and 
State  in  England  which  now  binds  together  the  whole  British  Empire.  And  from 
the  Christianity  here  established  in  England  has  flowed,  by  direct  consequence,  first, 
the  Christianit}'  of  Germany ;  then,  after  a  long  interval,  of  North  America ;  and 
lastly,  we  may  trust  in  time,  of  all  India  and  all  Australasia.  The  view  from  St. 
Martin's  Church  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  inspiriting  that  can  be  found  in  the 
world ;  there  is  none  to  which  I  would  more  willingly  take  any  one  who  doubted 
whether  a  small  beginning  could  lead  to  a  great  and  lasting  good — none  Vvdiich  car- 
ries us   more  vividly  back  into  the  past  or  more  hopefully  forward  to  the  future. 


94  Ca)iicrbury. 


THE  MURDER  OF    BECKET. 

THE  year  1170  witnessed  the  termination  of  the  struggle  of  eight  years  between 
the  King  and  the  Archbishop.  In  addition  to  the  general  question  of  the  immu- 
nities of  the  clergy  from  secular  jurisdiction,  which  was  the  original  point  in 
dispute  between  the  King  and  the  Archbishop,  another  had  arisen  within  this  very 
year,  of  much  less  importance  in  itself,  but  which  now  threw  the  earlier  controversy 
into  the  shade,  and  eventually  brought  about  the  iinal  catastrophe.  In  the  preceding 
June,  Henry,  with  the  view  of  consolidating  his  power  in  England,  had  caused  his 
eldest  son  to  be  crowned  king.  In  the  absence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
the  ceremony  of  coronation  was  performed  \>y  Roger,  Archbishop  of  York,  assisted 
by  Gilbert  Foliot  and  Jocelyn  the  Lombard,  Bishops  of  London  and  of  Salisbury, 
under  (what  was  at  least  believed  to  be)  the  sanction  of  a  Papal  brief.  The 
moment  the  intelligence  was  communicated  to  Becket,  a  new  blow  seemed  to  be 
struck  at  his  rights  ;  but  this  time  it  was  not  the  privileges  of  his  order,  but  of 
his  office,  that  were  attacked.  The  inalienable  right  of  crowning  the  sovereigns  of 
England,  from  the  time  of  Augustine  downwards,  inherent  in  the  See  of  Canterbury, 
had  been  infringed  ;  and  with  his  usual  ardour  he  procured  from  the  Pope  letters 
against  the  three  prelates  who  had  taken  part  in  the  daring  act. 

Tuesday,  his  friends  remarked,  had  alwa^-s  been  a  significant  daj'  in  Becket's 
life.  On  a  Tuesday  he  was  born  and  baptised ;  on  a  Tuesday  he  had  fled  from 
Northampton  ;  on  a  Tuesday  he  had  left  England  on  his  exile  ;  on  a  Tuesday  he 
had  received  warning  of  his  martyrdom  in  a  vision  at  Pontigny  ;  on  a  Tuesdaj^  he 
had  returned  from  that  exile.  It  was  now  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  fatal  hour  came  ; 
and  (as  the  next  generation  observed)  it  was  on  a  Tuesday  that  his  enemy.  King 
Henry,  was  buried,  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  martyr's  relics  were  translated ;  and 
Tuesday  was  long  afterwards  regarded  as  the  week-day  especially  consecrated  to  the 
saint   with  whose   fortunes   it   had   thus   been   so   strange!}'   interwoven. 

In  the  morning  he  attended  Mass  in  the  cathedral ;  then  passed  a  long  time  in 
the  chapter-house,  confessing  to  two  of  the  monks,  and  receiving,  as  seems  to  have 
been  his  custom,  three  sconrgings.  Then  came  the  usual  banquet  in  the  great  hall 
of  the  palace  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  observed  to  drink  more  than  usual ; 
and  his  cup-bearer,  in  a  whisper,  reminded  him  of  it.  "  He  who  has  much  blood  to 
shed,"  answered  Becket,  "  must  drink  much." 

The  dinner  was  now  over  ;  the  concluding  hymn  or  "  grace  "  was  finished,  and 
Becket  had  retired  to  his  private  room,  where  he  sat  on  his  bed,  talking  to  his 
friends.  A  violent  assault  on  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  the  crash  of  a  wooden  partition 
in  the  passage  from  the  orchard,  announced   that   the   danger  was  close  at  hand.     The 


Canterbury.  gj 

monks,  with  that  extraordinary  timidity  which  they  always  seem  to  have  displayed, 
instantly  fled,  leaving  only  a  small  body  of  his  intimate  friends  or  faithful  attendants. 
They  united  in  entreating  him  to  take  refuge  in  the  cathedral.  "  No,"  he  said ; 
"  fear  not  ;  all  monks  are  cowards."  On  this  some  sprang  upon  him,  aud  endeavoured 
to  drag  him  there  by  main  force ;  others  urged  that  it  was  now  five  o'clock,  that 
vespers  were  beginning,  and  that  his  duty  called  him  to  attend  the  service.  Partly 
forced,  partly  persuaded  by  the  argument,  partly  feeling  that  his  doom  called  him 
thither,  he  rose  aud  moved ;  but  seeing  that  his  cross-staff  was  not  as  usual  borne 
before  him,  he  stopped  and  called  for  it.  Thrice  they  were  delayed,  even  in  that 
short  passage  ;  for  thrice  he  broke  loose  from  them.  At  last  they  reached  the  door 
of  the  lower  north  transept  of  the  cathedral,   and  here  was  presented  a  new  scene. 

The  vespers  had  already  begun,  and  the  monks  were  singing  their  service  in 
the  choir,  when  two  boys  rushed  up  the  nave,  announcing,  more  by  their  terrified 
gestures  than  b}^  their  words,  that  the  soldiers  were  bursting  into  the  palace  and  the 
monastery.  Instantly  the  service  was  thrown  into  the  utmost  confusion  ;  part 
remained  at  prayer,  part  fled  into  the  numerous  hiding-places  which  the  vast  fabric 
affords,  and  part  went  down  the  steps  of  the  choir  into  the  transept  to  meet  the  little 
band  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,  come  in  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  them  ;  "  come  in,  and  let 
us  die  together !  "  The  Archbishop  continued  to  stand  outside,  and  said,  "  Go  and 
finish  the  service.  So  long  as  you  keep  in  the  entrance,  I  shall  not  come  in." 
Becket,  who  had  stepped  some  paces  into  the  cathedral,  but  was  resisting  the  solici- 
tations of  those  immediately  about  him  to  move  up  into  the  choir  for  safety,  darted 
back,  calling  aloud  as  he  went,  "  Away,  j'ou  cowards !  By  virtue  of  your  obedi- 
ence I  command  you  not  to  shut  the  door ;  the  church  must  not  be  turued  into  a 
castle." 

It  was,  we  must  remember,  about  five  o'clock  in  a  winter  evening.  The  tran- 
sept in  which  the  knights  found  themselves  is  the  same  as  that  which,  though  with 
considerable  changes  in  its  arrangements,  is  still  known  by  its  ancient  name  of 
"  The  ]\Iartyrdom."  At  the  moment  of  their  entrance  the  central  pillar  exactly  inter- 
cepted their  view  of  the  Archbishop  ascending  the  eastern  staircase.  Fitzurse,  with 
his  drawn  sword  in  one  hand,  and  a  carpenter's  axe  in  the  other,  sprang  in  first, 
and  turned  at  once  to  the  right  of  the  pillar.  The  other  three  went  round  it  to  the 
left.  lu  the  dim  twilight  they  could  just  discern  a  group  of  figures  mounting  the 
steps.  Oue  of  the  knights  called  out  to  them,  "  Stay !  "  Another,  "  Where  is  Thomas 
Becket,  traitor  to  the  king?"  No  answer  was  returned.  Fitzurse  rushed  forward, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Where  is  the  Archbishop  ?  "  Instantly  the  answer  came  :  "  Reginald, 
here  I  am — no  traitor,  but  the  Archbishop  and  Priest  of  God ;  what  do  you  wish  ?  " 
Attired,  we  are  told,  in  his  white  rochet,  with  a  cloak  and  hood  thrown  over  his 
shoulders,  he  thus  suddenly  confronted  his  assailants. 


98 


Canterbury. 


The  well-known  borror  wliicli  in  that  age  was  felt  at  an  act  of  sacrilege,  together 
with  the  sight  of  the  crowds  who  were  rushing  in  from  the  town  through  the  nave, 
turned  their  efforts  for  the  next  few  moments  to  carry  him  out  of  the  church.  Fitzurse 
threw  down  the  axe,  and  tried  to  drag  him  out  by  the  collar  of  his  long  cloak,  calling, 
"Come  with  us;  you  are  our  prisoner."     "I  will  not  fly,  you  detestable  fellow!"  was 

Becket's  reply,  roused  to  his 
usual  vehemence  and  wrenching 
the  cloak  out  of  Fitzurse's  grasp. 
Becket  set  his  back  against  the 
pillar  and  resisted  with  all  his 
might ;  whilst  Grim,  vehemently 
remonstrating,  threw  his  arms 
around  him  to  aid  his  efforts. 
In  the  scuffle  Becket  fastened 
upon  Tracy,  shook  him  by  his 
coat  of  mail,  and  exerting  his 
great  strength,  flung  him  down 
on  the  pavement.  It  was  hope- 
less to  carry  on  the  attempt  to 
remove  him,  and,  in  the  final 
struggle  which  now  began,  Fitz- 
iirse,  as  before,  took  the  lead. 
But  as  he  approached  with  his 
drawn  sword,  the  sight  of  him 
kindled  afresh  the  Archbishop's 
anger,  now  heated  by  the  fray ; 
the  spirit  of  the  chancellor  rose 
within  him,  and  with  a  coarse  epi- 
thet, not  calculated  to  turn  away 
his  adversary's  wrath,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  You  profligate  wretch, 
you  are  my  man — you  have 
done  me  fealty — you  ought  not 
to  touch  me ! "  Fitzurse,  glowing  all  over  with  rage,  retorted,  "  I  owe  you  no  fealty  or 
homage,  contrary  to  my  fealty  to  the  King,"  and  waving  the  sword  over  his  head  cried, 
"  Strike,  strike!  "  [Fercz,  ferez !)  but  merely  dashed  off  his  cap.  The  Archbishop  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  joined  hands,  bent  his  neck,  and  said,  "  I  commend  my  cause  and  the 
cause  of  the  Church  to  God,  to  Saint  Denys  the  martjT  of  France,  to  Saint  Alfege,  and  to 
the  saints  of  the  Church."      Meantime  Tracy,  who  since   his    fall    had   thrown  off  his 


TRANSEPT   OF   MARTYRDOM. 


Canterbury.  gg 

hauberk  to  move  more  easily,  sprang  forward,  and  struck  a  more  decided  blow.  Grim, 
who  up  to  this  moment  had  his  arm  round  Becket,  threw  it  up,  wrapped  in  a  cloak, 
to  intercept  the  blade,  Becket  exclaiming,  "  Spare  this  defence !  "  The  sword  lighted 
on  the  arm  of  the  monk,  which  fell  wounded  or  broken ;  and  he  fled  disabled  to  the 
nearest  altar,  probably  that  of  St.  Benedict,  within  the  chapel. 

The  blood  from  the  first  blow  was  trickling  down  Becket's  face  in  a  thin 
streak  ;  he  wiped  it  with  his  arm,  and  when  he  saw  the  stain,  he  said,  "  Into 
thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I  commend  mj^  spirit."  At  the  third  blow,  which  was  also 
from  Tracy,  he  sank  on  his  knees — his  arms  falling,  but  his  hands  still  joined 
as  if  in  pra3'er.  With  his  face  turned  towards  the  altar  of  St.  Benedict,  he 
murmured  in  a  low  voice — which  might  just  have  been  caught  bj'  the  wounded 
Grim,  who  was  crouching  close  by,  and  who  alone  reports  the  words — "  For  the 
name  of  Jesus,  and  the  defence  of  the  Church,  I  am  willing  to  die."  Without 
moving  hand  or  foot,  he  fell  flat  on  his  face  as  he  spoke,  in  front  of  the  corner 
wall  of  the  chapel,  and  with  such  dignity  that  his  mantle,  which  extended  from 
head  to  foot,  was  not  disarranged.  In  this  posture  he  received  from  Richard  the 
Breton  a  tremendous  blow,  accompanied  with  the  exclamation  (in  allusion  to  a 
quarrel  of  Becket  with  Prince  William),  "Take  this  for  love  of  my  Lord  William, 
brother  of  the  King !  "  The  stroke  was  aimed  with  such  violence  that  the  scalp 
or  crown  of  the  head — which,  it  was  remarked,  was  of  unusual  size — was  severed 
from  the  skull,  and  the  sword  snapped  in  two  on  the  marble  pavement.  The  frac- 
ture of  the  murderous  weapon  was  reported  b}'  one  of  the  eyewitnesses  as  a  presage 
of  the  ultimate  discomfiture  of  the  Archbishop's  enemies.  Hugh  of  Horsea,  the 
subdeacon  who  had  joined  them  as  they  entered  the  church,  taunted  by  the  others 
with  having  taken  no  share  in  the  deed,  planted  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  the 
corpse,  thrust  his  sword  into  the  ghastly  wound,  and  scattered  the  brains  over  the 
pavement.  "  Let  us  go,  let  us  go,"  he  said,  in  conclusion.  "  The  traitor  is  dead  ; 
he  will  rise  no  more." 

It  was  not  till  the  night  had  quite  closed  in,  that  Osbert,  the  chamberlain 
of  the  Archbishop,  entering  with  a  light,  found  the  corpse  lying  on  its  face,  the 
scalp  hanging  by  a  piece  of  skin  ;  he  cut  off  a  piece  of  his  shirt  to  bind  up 
the  frightful  gash.  The  doors  of  the  cathedral  were  again  opened,  and  the  monks 
returned  to  the  spot.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  they  ventured  to  give  way  to  their 
grief,  and  a  loud  lamentation  resounded  through  the  stillness  of  the  night.  When 
they  turned  the  body  with  its  face  upwards,  all  were  struck  by  the  calmness  and 
beauty  of  the  countenance :  a  smile  still  seemed  to  play  on  the  features,  the  color 
on  the  cheeks  was  fresh,  and  the  eyes  were  closed  as  if  in  sleep.  After  t3'ing 
up  the  head  with  clean  linen,  and  fastening  the  cap  over  it,  the}'  placed  the  body 
on    a    bier,    and    carried    it    up    the    successive    flights    of    steps    which    led    from    the 


lOO 


Canterbury. 


transept  through  the  choir — "the  glorious  choir,"  as  it  was  called,  "  of  Conrad" — 
to  the  high  altar,  iu  frout  of  which  they  laid  it  down.  The  night  was  now  far 
advanced,  but  the  choir  was  usually  lighted  —  and  probably,  therefore,  on  this 
great  occasion — by  a  chandelier  with  twenty-four  wax  tapers.  Vessels  were  placed 
underneath   the   body    to   catch    any    drops    of    blood    that    might    fall,  and  the  monks 

sat  around  weeping.  The  aged 
Robert,  Canon  of  Merton,  the 
earliest  friend  and  instructor  of 
Becket,  and  one  of  the  three 
who  had  remained  with  him  to 
the  last,  consoled  them  by  a 
narration  of  the  austere  life 
of  the  martj-red  prelate,  which 
hitherto  had  been  known  only 
to  himself,  as  the  confessor  of 
the  Primate,  and  to  Brun  the 
valet.  In  proof  of  it  he  thrust 
his  hand  iinder  the  garments, 
and  showed  the  monk's  habit 
and  haircloth  shirt,  which  he 
wore  next  to  his  skin.  This  was 
the  one  thing  wanted  to  raise  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  b3'standers  to 
the  highest  pitch. 

Early  in  the  next  day  a 
rumour  or  message  came  to  the 
monks  that  Robert  de  Broc  for- 
bade them  to  bury  the  body 
among  the  tombs  of  the  Arch- 
bishops. They  accordingly  closed 
the  doors,  which  apparently  had 
remained  open  through  the  night 
to  admit  the  populace,  and  deter- 
mined to  bury  the  corpse  in  the 


NORMAN   BAPISTERY. 

Thither  they  carried  it,  and  in  that  venerable  vault  proceeded  to  their  mournful 

The    fortunes    of  the    King   grew  darker   and  darker  with  the  rebellion  of  his 
It  was  this  which  led  to  the  great  penance  at  Canterbury.     [1174.]     He  arrived 
at  Southampton   on  Monday,  the  8th  of  July.     From    that   moment    he   began    to    live 


crypt, 
task. 

sons. 


Canterbury.  loi 

on  the  penitential    diet   of    bread    and    ^vater,    and    deferred    all    bnsiness    till    lie    had 
fulfilled  his  vow.     At  St.  Dunstan's  Church,  he  entered  the   edifice   with    the    prelates 
who  were  present,  stripped  off  his  ordinary  dress,  and  walked    through    the    streets    in 
the  guise  of  a  penitent  pilgrim — barefoot,  and  with  no  other  covering   than  a    woolen 
shirt,  and  a  cloak  thrown  over  it  to  keep  ofi"  rain.      So,  amidst    a  wondering  crowd — 
the  rough  stones  of  the  streets  marked  with  the  blood  that  started  from    his   feet — he 
reached  the  cathedral.     There  he   knelt    in    the    porch,    then    entered    the   church,    and 
went  straight  to  the  scene  of  the  murder  in  the  north  transept.     Here  he  knelt  again, 
and  kissed  the  sacred  stone  on  which  the  Archbishop  had  fallen,  the  prelates  standing 
round  to  receive  his  confession.     Thence  he  was  conducted  to  the  crj-pt,  where  he  again 
knelt,  and  with  groans  and  tears  kissed  the   tomb    and  remained  long  in    prayer.     At 
this  stage  of  the  solemnity  Gilbert  Foliot,  Bishop  of  London — the  ancient  opponent  and 
rival  of  Becket — addressed  the  monks  and  bystanders,  announcing  to  them  the  King's 
penitence.     The  King  requested  absolution,  and  received  a  kiss  of  reconciliation  from  the 
prior.     He  knelt  again  at  the  tomb,  removed    the  rough  cloak  which  had  been  thrown 
over   his    shoulders,  but   still    retained    the  woolen    shirt    to    hide    the    haircloth,  which 
was  visible    to  near  observation,  next    his  skin,  placed    his    head    and  shoulders  in  the 
tomb,  and   there    received    five  strokes  from    each    bishop    and   abbot  who  was    present, 
beginning  with   Foliot,  who  stood  by  with  the  "  balai,"  or   monastic  rod,  in    his  hand, 
and  three    from    each   of  the  eighty  monks.     Fully  absolved,  he    resumed    his  clothes, 
but  was   still  left    in    the   crypt,  resting   against  one   of  the    rude  Norman    pillars,   on 
the  bare  ground,   with  bare   feet  still    unwashed    from   the  mudd}^  streets,   and   passed 
the  whole  night  fasting.     For   those  who    believe    that  an  indiscriminate    maintenance 
of  ecclesiastical  claims   is   the  best  service    they  can  render  to   God   and   the   Church, 
and    that    opposition    to    the    powers    that    be    is    enough    to   entitle    a   bishop   to    the 
honours  of  a  saint  and  a  hero,  it  mav  not  be  without  instruction  to  remember  that  the 
Constitutions  of  Clarendon,   which    Becket   spent   his    life    in    opposing,   and    of  which 
his    death    procured   the    suspension,    are    now   incorporated    in    the    English    law,    and 
are   regarded,   without    a    dissentient  voice,   as  among   the  wisest    and    most    necessary 
of  English  institutions ;   that  the  especial  point  for  which   he  surrendered  his  life  was 
not    the    independence  of  the  clerg}'  from    the    encroachments    of  the    crown,   but    the 
personal   and    now  forgotten  question  of  the   superiority   of  the   See  of  Canterbur}'   to 
the  See  of  York. 


I02  Canterbury. 


EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 

EVERY  one  who  lias  endeavoured  to  study  history  must  be  struck  by  the  advan- 
tage which  those  enjoy  who  live  within  the  neighbourhood  of  great  historical 
monuments.  To  have  seen  the  place  where  a  great  event  happened ;  to  have 
seen  the  picture,  the  statue,  the  tomb,  of  an  illustrious  man — is  the  next  thing  to 
being  present  at  the  event  in  person,  to  seeing  the  scene  with  our  own  eyes.  In 
this  respect  few  spots  in  England  are  more  highly  favoured  than  Canterbury.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  if  any  one  were  to  go  through  the  various  spots  of 
interest  in  or  around  our  great  cathedral,  and  ask  what  happened  here — who  was  the 
man  whose  tomb  we  see — wh}'  was  he  buried  here — what  effect  did  his  life  or  his 
death  have  on  the  world — a  real  knowledge  of  the  history  of  England  would  be  ob- 
tained, such  as  the  mere  reading  of  books  or  hearing  of  lectures  would  utterly  fail  to 
supply.  If  any  one  asks  why  Canterbury  is  what  it  is — why  from  this  small  town 
the  first  subject  in  this  great  kingdom  takes  his  title — why  we  have  any  cathedral  at 
all — the  answer  is  to  be  found  in  that  great  event,  the  most  important  that  has  ever 
occurred  in  English  history — the  conversion  of  Ethelbert,  King  of  Kent,  by  the  first 
missionary,  Augustine.  And  if  }-ou  would  understand  this,  it  will  lead  you  to  make 
out  for  yourselves  the  history  of  the  Saxon  kings.  And  then  if  you  enter  the  cathe- 
dral, you  will  find  in  the  tombs  which  lie  within  its  walls  remembrances  of  almost 
every  reign  in  the  history  of  England.  Augustine  and  the  first  seven  Archbishops 
are  buried  at  St.  Augustine's ;  but  from  that  time  to  the  Reformation  they  have,  with 
a  very  few  exceptions,  been  buried  in  the  cathedral,  and  even  where  no  tombs  are 
left,  the  places  where  they  were  buried  are  for  the  most  part  known.  And  the  Arch- 
bishops being  at  the  time  not  only  the  chief  ecclesiastics,  but  also  the  chief  officers 
of  state  in  the  kiugdom,  their  graves  tell  you  not  merely  the  history  of  the  Eng- 
lish clergy,  but  also  of  the  whole  Commonwealth  and  State  of  England  besides. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  there  is  no  church,  no  place  in  the  kingdom,  with  the 
exception  of  Westminster  Abbey,  that  is  so  closely  connected  with  the  general  his- 
tory of  our  common  country.  The  kings  before  the  Reformation  are  for  the  most  part 
in  the  Abbey ;  but  their  prime  ministers,  so  to  speak,  are  for  the  most  part  in 
Canterbury  Cathedral. 

Ask  who  it  was  that  first  laid  out  the  monastery,  and  who  it  was  that  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  cathedral  as  it  now  stands,  and  you  will  find  that  it  was  Lanfranc, 
the  new  Archbishop  whom  William  the  Conqueror  brought  over  with  him  from  Nor- 
mandy, and  who  thus  re-established  the  old  church  with  his  Norman  workmen. 
Then  look  at  the  venerable  tower  on  the  south  side  of  the  cathedral,  and  ask  who 
lies  buried  within,  and  from  whom  it  takes  its  name,  and  you  will  find  yourself  with 


Canfnh/iiy. 


103 


Anselm,  the  wise  counsellor  of  William  Rufus  and  Henry  I. — Anselm,  the  great 
theologian,  who  of  all  the  Primates  of  the  See  of  Canterbury  is  the  best  known  by 
his  life  and  writings  throughout  the  world.  And  then  we  come  to  the  most  remarkable 
event  that  has  happened  at  Canterbury  since  the  arrival  of  Augustine,  and  of  which 
the  effect  may  be  traced  not  in  one  part  only,  but  almost  through  every  stone  in  the 
cathedral — the  murder  of  Becket,  followed  by  the  penance  of  Henry  II.  and  the  long 
succession  of  Canterbur}^  pil- 
grims. Then,  in  the  south 
aisle,  the  efiSgy  of  Hubert  Wal- 
ter brings  before  us  the  camp 
of  the  Crusaders  at  Acre,  where 
he  was  appointed  Archbishop 
by  Richard  I.  Next  look  at  that 
simple  tomb  in  St.  ^Michael's 
Chapel,  half  in  and  half  out 
of  the  church,  and  you  will  be 
brought  to  the  time  of  King 
John  ;  for  it  is  the  grave  of 
Stephen  Langton,  who  more 
than  any  one  man  won  for  us 
the  Magna  Charta.  Then  look 
back  at  the  north  transept,  at 
the  wooden  statue  that  lies  in 
the  corner.  That  is  the  grave 
of  Archbishop  Peckham,  in  the 
reign  of  King  Edward  I. ;  and 
close  beside  that  spot  King 
Edward  I.  was  married.  And 
now  we  come  to  the  reign  of 
King  Edward  III.  And  so  we 
might  pass  on  to  Archbishop 
Sudbury,  who  lost  his  head  in 
the  reign  of  Richard  11. ;  to 
Henry  IV.,  who  lies  there  himself;  to  Chichele,  who  takes  us  on  to  Henry  V.  and  Henry 
YI. ;  to  Morton,  who  reminds  us  of  Henry  VII.  and  Sir  Thomas  More ;  to  Warham,  the 
friend  of  Erasmus,  predecessor  of  Archbishop  Cranmer ;  and  then  to  the  subsequent  troubles 
— of  which  the  cathedral  still  bears  the  marks — in  the  Reformation  and  the  Civil  Wars. 

Let  us  place  ourselves  in    imagination    by    the    tomb    of    the    most    illustrious 
layman  who  rests  among  us,   Edward  Plantagenet,  Prince  of  Wales,  commonly  called 


lUMB    01<    XHK    BLACK    PRINCE. 


I04 


Canterbury. 


the  Black  Prince.  Let  us  ask  whose  likeness  is  it  that  we  there  see  stretched  before 
us — why  was  he  buried  in  this  place,  amongst  the  Archbishops  and  sacred  shrines 
of  former  times?  The  events  of  his  life  which  have  made  him  famous  in  war  were 
the  two  great  battles  of  Cressy  and  of  Poitiers.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  remember 
that  the  war  was  undertaken  by  Edward  III.  to  gain  the  crown  of  France — a  claim, 
through  his  mother,  which  he  had  solemnly  relinquished,  but  which  he  now  resumed 
to  satisfy  the  scruples  of  his  allies,  the  citizens  of  Ghent,  who  thought  that  their 
oath  of  allegiance  to  the  "  King  of  France  "  would  be  redeemed  if  their  leader  did 
but  bear  the  name. 


FRENCH  CHAPEL  IN  THE  CRYPT. 

Canterbury  had  soon  a  substantial  connection  with  the  Black  Prince.  In  1363 
he  married  his  cousin  Joan  in  the  chapel  at  Windsor,  which  witnessed  no  other 
royal  wedding  till  that  beautiful  and  touching  day  which  witnessed  the  union  of  our 
own  Prince  of  Wales  with  the  Princess  Alexandra  of  Denmark.  Of  these  nuptials 
Edward  the  Black  Prince  left  a  memorial  in  the  beautiful  chapel  still  to  be  seen  in 
the  crypt  of  the  cathedral,  where  two  priests  were  to  pray  for  his  soul,  first  in  his 
lifetime,  and  also,  according  to  the  practice  of  those  times,  after  his  death.  It  is 
now,  by  a  strange  turn  of  fortune,  which  adds  another  link  to  the  historical  interest 
of  the  place,  the  entrance  to  the  chapel  of  the  French  congregation — the  descendants 
of  the  very  nation  whom  he  conquered  at  Poitiers ;    but  you  can  still  trace  the  situa- 


Canterbury.  105 

tion  of  the  two  altars  where  his  priests  stood,  and  on  the  groined  vaultings  you  can 
see  his  arms  and  the  arms  of  his  father,  and,  in  connection  with  the  joyful  event, 
in  thankfulness  for  which  he  founded  the  chapel,  what  seems  to  be  the  face  of  his 
beautiful  wife,   commonly  known  as  the   Fair  Maid  of  Kent. 

Seldom,  if  ever,  has  the  death  of  one  man  so  deeply  struck  the  sympathy 
of  the  English  people.  Our  fathers  saw  the  mourning  of  the  whole  country  over 
the  Princess  Charlotte,  and  the  great  funeral  procession  which  conveyed  the  remains 
of  Nelson  to  their  resting-place  in  St.  Paul's — we  ourselves  have  seen  the  deep  grief 
over  the  death  of  our  most  illustrious  statesman.  For  nearly  four  months — from  the  8th 
of  June  to  the  29th  of  September — the  cofl&ned  body  laj^  in  state  at  Westminster,  and  then 
as  soon  as  Parliament  met  again,  as  usual  in  those  times,  on  the  festival  of  Michaelmas, 
was  brought  to  Canterbury.  It  was  laid  in  a  stately  hearse,  drawn  by  twelve  black 
horses ;  and  the  whole  Court,  aud  both  houses  of  Parliament,  followed  in  deep 
mourning.  On  entering  Canterbury  they  paused  at  the  west  gate.  Here  thej^  were 
met — so  the  Prince  had  desired  in  his  will — by  two  chargers,  fully  caparisoned,  and 
mounted  by  two  riders  in  complete  armour — one  bearing  the  Prince's  arms  of  England 
and  France,  the  other  the  ostrich  feathers  ;  one  to  represent  the  Prince  in  his  splendid 
suit  as  he  rode  in  war,  the  other  to  represent  him  in  black  as  he  rode  to  tournaments. 
Four  black  banners  followed.  So  they  passed  through  the  streets  of  the  city,  till  they 
reached  the  gate  of  the  Precincts.  Here,  according  to  the  custom,  the  armed  men 
halted,  and  the  body  was  carried  into  the  cathedral.  In  the  space  between  the  high 
altar  and  the  choir  a  bier  was  placed  to  receive  it,  whilst  the  funeral  services  were 
read,  surrounded  with  burning  tapers  and  with  all  the  heraldic  pomp  which  marked 
his  title  and  rank. 

Let  us  turn  to  that  tomb,  and  see  how  it  sums  up  his  whole  life.  Its  bright 
colors  have  long  since  faded,  but  enough  still  remains  to  show  what  it  was  as  it  stood 
after  the  sacred  remains  had  been  placed  within  it.  There  he  lies :  no  other  memorial 
of  him  exists  in  the  world  so  authentic.  There  he  lies,  as  he  had  directed,  in  full 
armour,  his  head  resting  on  his  helmet,  his  feet  with  the  likeness  of  "the  spurs  he 
won  "  at  Cressy,  his  hands  joined  as  in  that  last  pra5'er  which  he  had  offered  up  on 
his  death-bed.  There  you  can  see  his  fine  face  with  the  Plantagenet  features,  the  flat 
cheeks  and  the  well-chiselled  nose,  to  be  traced  perhaps  in  the  effig}'  of  his  father 
in  Westminster  Abbey  and  of  his  grandfather  in  Gloucester  Cathedral.  On  his 
armour  you  can  still  see  the  marks  of  the  bright  gilding  with  which  the  figure  was 
covered  from  head  to  foot,  so  as  to  make  it  look  like  an  image  of  pure  gold.  High 
above  are  suspended  the  brazen  gauntlets,  the  helmet,  with  what  was  once  its  gilded 
leopard-crest,  and  the  wooden  shield ;  the  velvet  coat  also,  embroidered  with  the  arms 
of  France  and  England,  now  tattered  and  colourless,  but  then  blazing  with  blue  and 
scarlet.     There,   too,  still    hangs    the    empty  scabbard    of  the  sword    wielded   perchance 


io6 


Canterbury. 


at  his  three  great  battles,  and  which  Oliver  Cromwell,  it  is  said,  carried  away.  On 
the  canopy  over  the  tomb  there  is  the  faded  representation — painted  after  the  strange 
fashion  of  those  times — of  the  Persons  of  the  Holy  Trinit}^,  which  he  directed  in  his 
will  should  be  hung  round  his  tomb  and  the  shrine  of  Becket.  Round  about  the 
tomb,  too,  you  will    see   the  ostrich  feathers,  which,  according  to  the  old    but  doubtful 


tradition,    we    are    told    he   won    at    Cressy    from    the 


blind  King  of  Bohemia,  who 
perished  in  the  thick  of  the 
fight ;  and  interwoven  with 
them,  the  famous  motto,  with 
which  he  used  to  sign  his 
name,  Houmojit,  Ich  diene. 

In  the  centre  of  the 
crypt,  on  the  spot  where  you 
now  see  the  gravestone  of 
Archbishop  Morton,  it  had 
been  his  wish  to  be  laid,  as 
expressed  in  the  will  which 
he  signed  only  the  day  before 
his  death.  But  those  who  were 
concerned  with  the  funeral  had 
prepared  for  him  a  more  mag- 
nificent resting-place ;  not  in 
the  darkness  of  the  crj-pt,  but 
high  aloft  in  the  sacred  space 
behind  the  altar,  and  on  the 
south  side  of  the  shrine  of  St. 
Thomas,  in  the  chapel  itself  of 
the  Holy  Trinit}',  on  the  festival 
of  which  he  had  expired,  they 
determined  that  the  body  of 
the  hero  should  be  laid.  That 
space  is  now  surrounded  with 
monuments ;  then  it  was  en- 
tirely, or  almost  entirely,  vacant.  The  gorgeous  shrine  stood  in  the  centre  on  its  coloured 
pavement,  but  no  other  corpse  had  been  admitted  within  that  venerated  ground — no  other, 
perhaps,  would  have  been  admitted  but  that  of  the  Black  Prince.  In  this  sacred  spot — be- 
lieved at  that  time  to  be  the  most  sacred  spot  in  England — the  tomb  stood  in  which,  "alone 
in  his  glory,"  the  Prince  was  to  be  deposited,  to  be  seen  and  admired  by  all  the  countless 
pilgrims  who  crawled  up  the  stone  steps  beneath  it  on  their  way  to  the  shrine  of  the  saint. 


CHRIST   CHURCH    GATKWAY. 


Cantcibury.  107 


THE   SHRINE   OF  BECKET. 

AMONGST  the  many  treasures  of  art  and  of  devotion  which  once  adorned  or 
which    still    adorn    the    metropolitical    cathedral,    the    one    point    to    which    for 

more  than  three  centuries  the  attention  of  every  stranger  who  entered  its 
gates  was  directed,  was  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury.  For  the  few 
years  immediately  succeeding  his  death,  there  was  no  regular  shrine.  The  popular 
enthusiasm  still  clung  to  the  two  spots  immediately  connected  with  the  murder.  The 
transept  in  which  he  died  within  five  years  from  that  time  acquired  the  name  by 
which  it  has  ever  since  been  known,  "  The  Mart3'rdom."  Next  to  the  actual  scene 
of  the  murder,  the  object  which  this  event  invested  with  especial  sanctity  was  the 
tomb  in  which  his  remains  were  deposited  in  the  crypt  behind  the  altar  of  the 
Virgin.  It  was  to  this  spot  that  the  first  great  rush  of  pilgrims  was  made  when 
the  church  was  reopened  in  1172,  and  it  was  here  that  Henry  performed  his  penance. 
Hither,  on  the  21st  of  August,  1179,  came  the  first  King  of  France  who  ever  set 
foot  on  the  shores  of  England,  Louis  VII. ;  warned  b^^  Saint  Thomas  in  dreams, 
and  afterwards,  as  he  believed,  receiving  his  son  back  from  a  dangerous  illness 
through  the  saint's  intercession.  He  knelt  by  the  tomb,  aud  offered  upon  it  the 
celebrated  jewel,  as    also  his  own  rich  cup  of  gold. 

About  four  3'ears  after  the  murder,  on  the  5th  of  September,  11 74,  a  fire  broke  out 
in  the  cathedral,  which  reduced  the  choir — hitherto  its  chief  architectural  glory — to 
ashes.  The  grief  of  the  people  is  described  in  terms  which  show  how  closely  the 
expression  of  mediaeval  feeling  resembled  what  can  now  only  be  seen  in  Italy  or  the 
East:  "They  tore  their  hair;  they  beat  the  walls  and  pavement  of  the  church  with 
their  shoulders  aud  the  palms  of  their  hands  ;  they  uttered  tremendous  curses  against 
God  and  his  saints — even  the  patron  saint  of  the  church ;  they  wished  they  had 
rather  have  died  than  seen  such  a  day."  How  far  more  like  the  description  of  a 
Neapolitan  mob  in  disappointment  at  the  slow  liquefaction  of  the  blood  of  Saint 
Januarius,  than  of  the  citizens  of  a  quiet  cathedral  town  in  the  county  of  Kent !  The 
monks,  though  appalled  by  the  calamity  for  a  time,  soon  recovered  themselves  ;  work- 
men and  architects,  French  and  English,  were  procured;  and  amongst  the  former, 
William,  from  the  city  of  Sens,  so  familiar  to  all  Canterbury  at  that  period  as  the 
scene  of  Becket's  exile.  No  observant  traveler  can  have  seen  the  two  cathedrals 
without  remarking  how  closely  the  details  of  William's  workmanship  at  Canterbury 
were  suggested  by  his  recollections  of  his  own  church  at  Sens,  built  a  short  time 
before.  The  forms  of  the  pillars,  the  vaulting  of  the  roof,  even  the  very  bars 
and  patterns  of  the  windows,  are  almost  identical. 


io8  Canterbury. 

According  to  the  precise  system  of  orientation  adopted  by  the  German  and  Celtic 
nations,  the  eastern  portion  of  the  church  was  in  those  countries  regarded  as  pre-eminently 
sacred.  Thither  the  high  altar  was  gradually  moved,  and  to  it  the  eyes  of  the  congregation 
were  specially  directed.  And  in  the  eagerness  to  give  a  higher  and  holier  even  than  the 
highest  and  the  holiest  place  to  any  great  saint  on  whom  popular  devotion  was  fastened, 
there  sprang  up  in  most  of  the  larger  churches  during  the  thirteenth  century  a  fashion 
of  throwing  out  a  still  farther  eastern  end,  in  which  the  shrine  or  altar  of  the  saint 
might  be  erected,  and  to  which,  therefore,  not  merely  the  gaze  of  the  whole  congrega- 
tion, but  of  the  officiating  priest  himself,  even  as  he  stood  before  the  high  altar, 
might  be  constantly  turned.  Thus,  according  to  Fuller's  quaint  remark,  the  super- 
stitious reverence  for  the  dead  reached  its  highest  pitch — "  the  porch  saying  to  the 
church-yard,  the  church  to  the  porch,  the  chancel  to  the  church,  the  east  end  to  all, 
'  Stand  further  off,  I  am  holier  than  thou.'  "  These  were  the  general  principles  which 
determined  the  space  to  be  allotted  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas  in  the  reconstruction 
of  Canterbury  Cathedral.  In  earlier  times  the  easternmost  chapel  had  contained  an 
altar  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  where  Becket  had  been  accustomed  to  sa}'  Mass.  Partly 
for  the  sake  of  preserving  the  two  old  Norman  towers  of  St.  Anselm  and  St.  Andrew, 
which  stood  on  the  north  and  south  sides  of  this  part  of  the  church,  but  chiefly  for 
the  sake  of  fitly  uniting  to  the  church  this  eastern  chapel  on  an  enlarged  scale,  the 
pillars  of  the  choir  were  contracted  with  that  singular  curve  which  attracts  the  eye  of 
every  spectator.  The  eastern  end  of  the  cathedral,  thus  enlarged,  formed,  as  at  Ely,  a 
more  spacious  receptacle  for  the  honoured  remains ;  the  new  Trinity  Chapel,  reaching 
considerably  beyond  the  extreme  limit  of  its  predecessor,  and  opening  beyond  into  a 
yet  further  chapel,  popularly  called  "  Becket's  Crown."  High  in  the  tower  of  St. 
Anselm,  on  the  south  side  of  the  destined  site  of  so  great  a  treasure,  was  prepared — 
a  usual  accompaniment  of  costly  shrines — the  "  Watching  Chamber."  It  is  a  rude 
apartment,  with  a  fireplace  where  the  watcher  could  warm  himself  during  the  long 
winter  nights,  and  a  narrow  gallery  between  the  pillars,  whence  he  could  overlook  the 
whole  platform  of  the  shrine,  and  at  once  detect  any  sacrilegious  robber  who  was 
attracted  by  the  immense  treasures  there  collected. 

When  the  cathedral  was  thus  duly  prepared,  the  time  came  for  what,  in  the 
language  of  those  days,  was  termed  the  "  translation "  of  the  relics.  The  Primate 
to  whose  work  the  lot  fell  was  one  whose  name  commands  far  more  unquestioned 
respect  than  the  weak  King  Henry ;  it  was  the  Cardinal  Archbishop,  the  great  Stephen 
Langton,  whose  work  still  remains  amongst  us  in  the  familiar  division  of  the  Bible 
into  chapters,  and  in  thfe  Alagna  Charta,  which  he  was  the  chief  means  of  wresting 
from  the  reluctant  John. 

On  the  eve  of  the  appointed  day  the  Archbishop,  with  Richard,  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  and  the  whole  body  of  monks,  headed  by   their  prior,  Walter,  entered  the 


Ccxulrrhiiiy. 


Ill 


crypt  by  uiglit  with  psalms  aud  liymus ;  aud  after  prayer  and  fasting,  at  midnight 
solemnly  approached  the  tomb  and  removed  the  stones  which  closed  it,  and  with  tears 
of  joy  saw  for  the  first  time  the  remains  of  the  saint.  Four  priests,  distinguished  for 
the  sanctity  of  their  lives,  took  out  the  relics^first  the  head,  (then,  as  always,  kept  sepa- 
rate,) aud  offered  it  to  be  kissed.  The  bones  were  then  deposited  in  a  chest  well  studded 
with  iron  nails  and  closed  with  iron  locks,  and  laid  in  a  secret  chamber. 

The  next  day  a  loug  procession  entered  the  cathedral.  It  was  headed  by 
the  young  king — "  King  Henry,  the  young  child."  Next  was  the  Italian  Pandulf, 
Bishop    of    Norwich,    and    Legate    of   the  Holy  See;    and  Archbishop  Langton,  accom- 


NORMAN   PORCH. 


panied  by  his  brother  Primate  of  France,  the  Archbishop  of  Rheinis.  With  them 
was  Hubert  de  Burgh,  the  Lord  High  Justiciary  and  greatest  statesman  of  his 
time,  and  "  four  great  lordlings,  noble  men  and  tried."  On  the  shoulders  of  this 
distinguished  band  the  chest  was  raised,  and  the  procession  moved  forward.  ]\Iass 
was  celebrated  by  the  French  Primate,  in  the  midst  of  nearly  the  whole  episcopate 
of  the  province  of  Canterbury,  before  an  altar  which,  placed  in  front  of  the  screen 
of  the  choir,  was  visible  to  the  vast  congregation  assembled  in  the  nave.  The  day 
was  enrolled  amongst  the  great  festivals  of  the  English  Church  as  the  Feast  of 
the    Translation    of    Saint    Thomas. 


112 


Canterbury. 


And  now  began  the  long  succession  of  pilgrimages  wliicli  for  three  centuries 
gave  Canterbury  a  place  amongst  the  great  resorts  of  Christendom,  and  which, 
through  Chaucer's  poem,  have  given  it  a  lasting  hold  on  the  memory  of  English- 
men as  long  as  English  literature  exists.  As  relics  took  the  place  of  all  the 
various  natural  objects  of  interest  which  now  occupy  the  minds  of  religious, 
literary,  or  scientific  men,  so  pilgrimages  took  the  place  of  modern  tours.  A  pil- 
grim was  a  traveler  with  the  same  adventures,  stories,  pleasures,  pains,  as  travelers 
now ;  the  very  names  by  which  we  express  the  most  listless  wanderings  are  taken 
from    pilgrimages    to    the    most    solemn    places. 


TOMB   OK   ARCHBISHOP   TAIT. 

At    the    church    door   the    miscellaneous    company    of    pilgrims    had    to    arrange 
themselves    "  every   one   after   his    degree  " — 

"The  courtesy  'gan  to  rise 
Till  the  knight  of  gentleness  that  knew  right  well  the  guise, 
Put  forth  the  prelate,  the  parson,  and  his  fere." 

Here  they  encountered  a  monk,  who  with  the  "  sprengel  "  sprinkled  all  their  heads 
with  holy  water.     After  this, 

"  The  knight  went  with  his  compeers  round  the  holy  shrine, 
To  do  that  they  were  come  for,  and  after  for  to  dine." 

The  first  object  was  the  Transept  of  the  Martyrdom.  To  this  they  were 
usually  taken  through  the  dark  passage  under  the  steps  leading  to  the  choir. 
They   were    next    led    down    the    steps    on    the    right    to    the    crypt,    where    a   new    set 


THE   CHOIR. 


Cantrybitry.  iic 

of  guardians  received  them.  Oti  great  occasions  the  gloom  of  the  old  Norman 
aisles  was  broken  by  the  long  array  of  lamps  suspended  from  the  rings  still  seen 
in  the  roof,  each  surrounded  by  its  crown  of  thorns.  Here  were  exhibited  some 
of  the  actual  relics  of  Saint  Thomas — part  of  liis  skull,  cased  in  silver,  and  also 
presented  to  be  kissed ;  and  hanging  aloft  the  celebrated  shirt  and  drawers  of 
hair-cloth,  which  had  struck  such  awe  into  the  hearts  of  the  monks  on  the  night  of 
his    death. 

Emerging  from  the  crypt,  the  pilgrims  mounted  the  steps  to  the  choir,  on 
the  north  side  of  which  the  great  mass  of  general  relics  were  exhibited.  Most 
of  them  were  in  ivory,  gilt,  or  silver  coffers.  The  bare  list  of  these  occupies 
eight  folio  pages,  and  comprises  upwards  of  four  hundred  items ;  some  of  these 
always,   but   especially    the    arm    of    Saint    George,    were    offered    to    be   kissed. 

"The  holy  relics  each  man  wiUi  his  mouth 
Kissed,   as  a  goodly  monk  the  names  told  and  taught." 

And  now  they  have  reached  the  holiest  place.  Behind  the  altar,  as  has  been 
already  observed,  was  erected  the  shrine  itself  What  seems  to  have  impressed  every 
pilgrim  who  has  left  the  record  of  his  visit,  as  absoluteU'  peculiar  to  Canterbury, 
was  the  long  succession  of  ascents,  by  which  "church  seemed,"  as  they  said,  "to 
be  piled  on  church,'^  and  "  a  new  temple  entered  as  soon  as  the  first  was  ended." 
This  unrivalled  elevation  of  the  sanctuary  of  Canterbur}'  was  parti}'  necessitated  by 
the  position  of  the  original  crypt,  partly  by  the  desire  to  construct  the  shrine  im- 
mediately above  the  place  of  the  saint's  original  grave — that  place  itself  being  beau- 
tified by  the  noble  structure  which  now  encloses  it.  Up  these  steps  the  pilgrims 
mounted,  many  of  them  probably  on  their  knees ;  and  the  long  and  deep  indenta- 
tions in  the  surface  of  the  stones  even  now  bear  witness  to  the  devotion  and  the 
number  of  those  who  once  ascended  to  the  sacred  platform  of  the  eastern  chapel. 
Near  these  steps,  not  improbably,  they  received  exhortations  from  one  or  more  of 
the  monks   as  they  approached    the   sacred   place. 

We  now  arrive  at  the  shrine.  Although  not  a  trace  of  it  remains,  yet  its  posi- 
tion is  ascertainable  beyond  a  doubt,  and  it  is  eas}'  from  analog}'  and  description  to 
imagine  its  appearance.  The  lower  part  of  the  shrine  was  of  stone,  supported  on 
arches  ;  and  between  these  arches  the  sick  and  lame  pilgrims  were  allowed  to  ensconce 
themselves,  rubbing  their  rheumatic  backs  or  diseased  legs  and  arms  against  the 
marble  which  brought  them  into  the  nearest  contact  with  the  wonder-working  body 
within.  The  shrine,  properly  so  called,  rested  on  these  arches,  and  was  at  first  in- 
visible. It  was  concealed  b}'  a  wooden  canop}-,  probably  painted  outside  with  sacred 
pictures,  suspended  from  the  roof;  at  a  given  signal  this  canopy  was  drawn  up  by 
ropes,  and  the  shrine  then  appeared  blazing  with  gold  and  jewels ;  the  wooden  sides 
were  plated  with  gold,  and   damasked  with  gold  wire ;    cramped    together  on    this  gold 


ii5  Canfcrbury. 

ground  were  innumerable  jewels,  pearls,  sapphires,  balassas,  diamonds,  rubies,  and 
emeralds,  and  also,  "  in  the  midst  of  the  gold,"  rings,  or  cameos,  of  sculptured  agates, 
carnelians,  and  onyx  stones. 

As  soon  as  this  magnificent  sight  was  disclosed,  every  one  dropped  on  his 
knees;  and  probably  the  tinkling  of  the  silver  bells  attached  to  the  canopy  would  in- 
dicate the  moment  to  all  the  hundreds  of  pilgrims  in  whatever  part  of  the  cathe- 
dral they  might  be.  The  body  of  the  saint  in  the  inner  iron  chest  was  not  to  be 
seen  except  by  mounting  a  ladder,  which  would  be  but  rarely  allowed.  But  whilst 
the  votaries  knelt  around,  the  prior,  or  some  other  great  officer  of  the  monastery, 
came  forward,  and  with  a  white  wand  touched  the  several  jewels,  naming  the  giver 
of  each,  and,  for  the  benefit  of  foreigners,  adding  the  French  name  of  each,  with 
a   description    of  its    value    and    marvellous    qualities. 

The   lid   once    more    descended    on    the    golden    ark;    the    pilgrims, 

"telling  heartily  their  beads, 
Prayed  to  Saint  Thomas  in  such  wise  as  they  could," 

and  then  withdrew,  down  the  opposite  flight  of  steps  from  that  which  they  had 
ascended.  So  completely  were  the  records  of  the  shrine  destroyed,  that  the  cathedral 
archives  throw  hardly  the  slightest  light  either  on  its  existence  or  its  removal. 
And  its  site  has  remained,  from  that  day  to  this,  a  vacant  space,  with  the  marks 
of  the  violence    of  the    destruction    even  yet  visible  on    the  broken    pavement. 

Round  it  still  lie  the  tombs  of  king  and  prince  and  archbishop;  the  worn 
marks  on  the  stones  show  the  reverence  of  former  ages.  But  the  place  itself  is 
vacant,  and  the  lessons  which  that  vacancy  has  to  teach  us  must  now  take  the 
place  of  the  lessons  of  the  ancient  shrine.  In  proportion  to  our  thankfulness  that 
ancient  superstitions  are  destroyed,  should  be  our  anxiety  that  new  light  and  in- 
creased zeal  and  more  active  goodness  should  take  their  place.  Our  pilgrimage  can- 
not be  Geoffrey  Chaucer's,  but  it  may  be  John  Bunyan's.  In  that  true  "  Pilgrim's 
Way "  to  a  better  country,  we  have  all  of  us  to  toil  over  many  a  rugged  hill,  over 
many  a  dreary  plain,  by  many  opposite  and  devious  paths,  cheering  one  another  by 
all  means,  grave  and  gay,  till  we  see  the  distant  towers.  In  that  pilgrimage  and 
progress  towards  all  things  good  and  wise  and  holy,  Canterbury  Cathedral,  let  us 
humbly  trust,  may  still  have  a  part  to  play.  Although  it  is  no  longer  the  end  in 
the  long  journey,  it  may  still  be  a  stage  in  our  advance;  it  may  still  enlighten, 
elevate,  sanctify,  those  who  come  within  its  reach;  it  may  still,  if  it  be  true  to  its 
high  purpose,  win  for  itself,  in  the  generations  which  are  to  come  after  us,  a  glory 
more  humble  but  not  less  excellent  than  when  a  hundred  thousand  worshipers  lay 
prostrate  before  the  shrine  of  its  ancient  hero. 


DIGNITARIES. 


ARCHBISHOP    TAIT. 


ARCHIBALD  CAMPBELL  TAIT,  D.  D. 

THE  late  Archbishop  Archibald  Campbell  Tait,  (born  iSii,  died  1SS2,)  as  might 
be  surmised  from  his  name,  was  of  Scotch  Presbyterian  descent.  He  first 
achieved  notoriety  as  one  of  the  four  tutors  -who  protested  against  Dr.  Newman's 
misconstruction  of  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  in  Tract  90.  In  1S42  he  succeeded 
Dr.  Arnold  as  Master  of  Rugby.  In  1S56  he  became  Bishop  of  Loudon,  in  which 
position  he  was  signall}-  successful,  throwing  himself  vigourously  into  his  work.  In  a 
few  years  he  raised  nearly  ^350,000  for  the  Bi.shop  of  London's  fund  for  the  building 
of  churches,  schools  and  parsonages,  and  largely  increased  the  number  of  workers  in 
his  Diocese.  He  refused  the  Archbishopric  of  York,  and  in  186S  accepted  that  of 
Canterbury.  During  his  Archbishopric  he  had  to  deal  with  many  burning  questions, 
and  to  steer  the  ship  of  the  Church  through  stormy  seas,  He  was  thoroughly 
equal  to  the  duties  of  his  high  station,  possibly  rather  more  statesman  than  priest, 
tolerant  as   a  rule,  yet  knowing  when   firmness   was   needed,  and  very   seldom  making 

a  false  step. 

(119) 


EDWARD  WHITE  BENSON,  D.  D. 

THE  Most  Reverend  Edward  White  Benson,  D.  D.,  (born  1829,)  the  present 
occupant  of  the  chair  of  Augustine  at  Canterbury,  and  Primate  of  all  England, 
was  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  an  assistant  master  at  Rugby 
School,  and  in  1858  the  first  Head-master  of  Wellington  College,  holding  that 
position  until  he  became  Chancellor  of  Lincoln  Cathedral,  in  1872.  In  December, 
1876,  at  the  recommendation  of  Lord  Beaconsfield,  he  was  nominated  to  the  newly 
restored  Bishopric  of  Truro,  and  consecrated  in  St.  Paul's,  April  25,  1877.  He 
displayed  great  energy  of  organisation,  began  the  building  of  a  cathedral  at  his  See 
city,  the  first  built  in  England  since  the  Reformation,  and  raised  by  his  personal 
efforts  much  of  the  _;^ioo,ooo  which  its  outward  shell  alone  cost.  In  December, 
1882,  at  Mr.  Gladstone's  recommendation,  he  was  nominated  to  the  Archbishopric 
of  Canterbur3\  In  his  ecclesiastical  policy  he  has  been  conservative  and  conciliatory, 
yet  not  without  the  courage  of  his  convictions  w^hen  necessary.  Though  a  liberal 
High-churchman  rather  than  a  controversialist,  in  his  celebrated  judgement  in  the 
"  Lincoln  case "  he  evinced  a  desire  to  decide  with  a  full  knowledge  of  the  law 
and  the  usage  of  the  Church,  much  to  his  credit,  and  calculated  to  give  great 
weight  to  the  conclusions  reached  by  him.  In  defence  of  the  Church  over  which 
he  presides  he  has  been  firm  and  decided  in  opposition  to  all  schemes  for  her  spoliation, 

and   recently  has    taken    active    steps    to    arouse    the    laity    against    its    disendowment. 

(120) 


ARCHBISHOP    BENSON. 


YORK   MINSTER. 


YORK   MINSTER. 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  calls  this  cathedral  "the  most  august  of  temples,  the 
noble  Minster  of  York,"  and  its  most  devoted  lover  can  never  complain  that  it 
has  not  in  every  age  received  its  due  share  of  veneration.  Let  us  look  first  at 
the  west  front,  that  exquisite  specimen  of  Gothic  art,  which  "  has  been  compared  with 
the  celebrated  facade  at  Rheims  Cathedral  for  richness,  sublimity,  and  beauty  of 
architectural  design ;  it  is  certainly  not  surpassed  by  that  of  an}'  church  in  England 
in  its  fine  proportions,  chaste  enrichments,  or  scientific  arrangements."  An  eight-pin- 
nacled tower  rises  at  each  side,  and  between  is  a  gable  with  perforated  battlement, 
surmounted  by  a  crocketed  pinnacle.  The  central  doorway  is  divided  into  two  by  a 
slender  shaft,  as  is  not  unusual,  but  the  space  beneath  the  deep  vaulting  of  the  arch 
is  filled  with  a  circular  six-light  window,  which  is  an  uncommon,  if  not  unique, 
arrangement.  Over  this  is  a  crocketed  gable,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  niche 
containing  the  statue  of  Archbishop  Melton,  who  finished  the  building  of  the  western 
part  of  the  nave.  "  He  sits,  graven  in  stone,  in  his  archiepiscopal  attire,  with  his 
hand  still  raised  in  the  attitude  of  benediction.  Over  his  head  is  the  finest  Gothic 
window  in  the  world,  built  in  all  probability  by  himself,  and  still  beaming  with  the 
glowing  colours  with  which  he  adorned  it  nearly  five  hundred  and  fift)^  years  ago. 
On  either  hand  is  an  efiigy  of  a  benefactor  of  the  church,  the  heads  of  the  noble 
houses  of  Vavasour  and  Percy,  bearing  in  their  arms  the  wood  and  stone  which  they 
once  gave." 

The  nave  was  begun  by  Archbishop  Romaine  in  1291,  and  finished  by  Arch- 
bishop Melton  in  1330.  Archbishop  Roger  (1154-1181)  built  the  choir  with  its 
crypts,  with  the  archiepiscopal  palace  to  the  north  of  the  cathedral,  and  the  Chapel 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  between  the  two  buildings.  He  gave  one  of  St.  Peter's  bones 
and  part  of  his  sandals  to  the  church.  These  were  put  into  a  crucifix  of  gold,  and 
were  among  the  things  sent  for  the  ransom  of  Coeur-de-Lion,  but  were  afterwards 
redeemed.  He  waged  long  and  actively  the  war  with  Canterbury  about  the  question 
of  supremac}^  and  "  bearing  the  cross,"  the  right  to  carry  that  symbol  erect  belonging 
exclusively  to  the  Primate.     At  the  Council  of  Westminster,  September,   1102,  Gerald 

(125) 


126 


York  Afi>ister. 


of  York  kicked  over  the  chair  prepared  for  him,  because  it  was  on  a  lower  level  than 
that  put  for  Anselm  of  Canterbury.  Roger  vindicated  his  claim  in  an  even  more 
amusing  and  undignified  way,  and  this  also  at  a  Council  at  Westminster. 

This  is  the  largest  nave  in  any  English  cathedral,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  that 
other,  St.  Peter's,  in  a  sunnier  city,  the  proportions  are  so  exquisite  that  the  eye 
takes  some  time  to  realise  the  size.  All  is  so  simple,  so  grand,  and  fault-finders 
add  "  so  cold."  Perhaps  there  is  a  little  want  of  colour,  but  where  form  is  so 
perfect  one  could  scarcely  wish,  even  for  the  sake  of  warmth,  to  risk  the  loss  of 
purity.       Most    of     the     windows     retain     their     original     glass,     fairly    perfect,    and 


YORK— FROM    THE   RAILWAY   STATION. 

here  and  there  a  shimmering  bit  of  colour  is  cast  to  the  ground,  but  this  is  never 
by  the  oldest  glass,  which  always  transmits  pure  light.  No  satisfactory  explanation 
has  been  given  of  this,  and  some  say  it  is  a  "  lost  art ;  "  is  it  not  more  probably  the 
result  of  the  outside  surface  of  the  old  glass  being  roughened  by  the  weather?  or 
may  it  not  be  that  in  the  old  windows  the  dark  patches  are  generally  surrounded  by 
clear  glass,  the  rays  of  which  diverge  and  absorb  those  which  pass  through  the  dark 
ones  before  reaching  the  floor  ?  The  glass  of  many  of  the  windows  is  ver}^  much 
out  of  plumb,  owing  to  the  melting  of  the  lead  which  binds  it  together  during  the 
fire  of  1S40.     This  catastrophe  took  place  on  the  night  of  May  20th,  when  the  whole 


Vbr/:  Minster. 


12- 


nave  was  burnt  up  to  the  central  tower;  this  the  fire  conld  not  pass,  as  there  was 
nothing  in  it  to  burn.  It  originated  in  the  south-west  tower,  where  some  workmen 
are  supposed  to  have  left  a  light.  The  metal  of  the  melted  bells  poured  down 
among  the  ruins,  and  was  collected,  and  for  years  snuff-boxes,  «Slc.,  made  of  "  bell- 
metal,"  were  a  staple  commodity  among  the  curiosity  vendors  of  the  city.  The  new 
bells  rang  for  the  first  time 
on  July  4,  1844.  "  Great 
Peter,"  who  occupies  the 
other  tower,  does  not  "  utter 
forth  his  glorious  voice " 
quite  as  often  as  some  of 
us  could  wish.  He  has  to 
be  struck  by  a  hammer, 
because,  owing  to  his  enor- 
mous weight,  the  machiner}' 
has  never  been  arranged  for 
ringing  him. 

Let  us  pass  up  the 
nave,  now  noticing  a  stone 
dragon  which  projects  from 
the  triforium,  and  from 
which  at  one  time  hung  the 
canopy  of  the  font,  and  now 
wondering  if  Charles  I.  were 
not  right  after  all  when  he 
ordered  the  organ  to  be  re- 
moved because  it  spoilt  the 
view  of  the  east  window. 
We  pause  at  the  south-east 
corner  of  the  nave.  It  was 
upon  this  spot  that  Arch- 
bishop John  Romanus  stood 
on  April  6,  1 291,  to  lay  the 
foundation  stone  of  this  his 
great  work,  and  to  call  down  the  blessing  of  the  Holy  Ghost  upon  it.  What  would  lie 
look  round  and  see?  To  the  right  Roger's  Norman  choir,  almost  above  his  head  the 
great  tower,  and  beyond  it  the  north  transept,  both  of  which  his  father  had  built — noble 
example  to  any  son.  The  "  Five  Sisters  "  would  look  down  on  him  much  as  they  do 
now  on  us ;  behind  him  would  be  the  transept  and  tomb  of  Walter  Gray,  and  before  him 


THE  "FIVE  SISTERS." 


128 


York  Minster. 


the  ruins  of  the  Norman  nave,  built  by  Thomas,  burnt  in  1137,  and  which  he  was 
preparing  to  make  even  as  we  see  it  now. 

The  central  tower,  the  largest  in  England,  was  built  about  1260  by  John 
Ronianus  the  elder,  treasurer  of  the  cathedral,  who  enclosed  the  Norman  piers  in 
the  present  many-shafted  pillars.  As  William  of  Wykeham  was  at  that  time  a  good 
deal  in  York,  and  also  a  friend  of  the  Archbishop,  probably  so  energetic  a  builder 
would  have  a  hand  in  it  too. 

Across  the  two  eastern  pillars  of  the  tower  is  the  magnificent  screen  so  justly 
celebrated.     The  carved  work    of   the  canopies   is  very  rich.     There   are    seven    niches 


THE   CHOIR   SCREEN. 


on  one  side  of  the  central  doorway,  and  eight  on  the  other,  containing  statues  of 
the  Kings  of  England  from  the  Conqueror  to  Henry  VI.  The  iron  gate  was  given 
in  the  early  part  of  last  century  by  a  Mrs.  Mary  Wandesford,  a  maiden  lady,  who 
took  "  brevet  rank."  She  also  endowed  an  "  old  maids'  hospital "  for  her  poorer 
sisters.  York  has  always  been  a  great  place  for  single  ladies,  and  the  memor}-  of 
five  of  the  number  is  exquisitely  perpetuated  in  the  next  lovely  object  which  meets 
our  gaze — the  celebrated  window  of  the  "  Five  Sisters."  It  consists  of  five  equal- 
sized  lancets  of  the  most  perfect  Early  English.  The  sisters  are  each  said  to  have 
done  one  panel  in  needle-work,  and  then  had  it  copied  in  glass  by  foreign  artists, 
but  the  exact  when   and  where  are   not  known.      It   is   a  most  beautiful   specimen   of 


York  Minster. 


129 


late  thirteenth-century  painted  glass,  and  the  peculiar  blending  of  the  grisaille  tints  is 
quite  unrivaled.  This  window  fills  the  whole  of  the  end  of  the  central  aisle  of  the  north 
transept,  which  was  built  by  John  Romanus  the  elder,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III. 

Entering  the  choir  by  the  door  in  the  screen,  the  magnificent  east  window 
bursts  into  view.  It  is  the  largest  in  England  which  retains  its  original  glazing. 
The  number  of  subjects  represented  in  glass  is  about  one  hundred  and  fifteen,  from 
the  Old  Testament  and  the  Revelation.  The  figures  are  generally  about  two  feet 
high,  the  drawing  is  good,  and  the  fiices  are  exquisitely  finished,  resembling  in  style 
the  work  of  the  early  Italian  painters.  It  was  begun  by  John  Thornton,  of  Coventry, 
in  1405.  He  was  to  have  four  shillings  a  week,  and  five  pounds  a  year  in  addition, 
and  to  finish  it  in  three  years,  and,  if  the  work  were  really  well  done,  ten  pounds  at 
the  end  of  that  time.  The  altar-screen  is  an  exquisite  specimen  of  Perpendicular 
work,  in  perfect  harmony  with  its 
surroundings,  and  it  is  unfortunate 
that  the  same  cannot  be  said  for  the 
reredos,  which  is  not  what  one  might 
wish  either  in  form  or  colour.  The 
moulding  of  Tiuworth's  terra-cotta 
"  Crucifixion  "  and  the  wood-carving 
are  both  good,  but  cannot  atone  for 
covering  so  much  of  the  east  window. 

Descending  a  few  steps  into  the 
south  aisle  we  cross  to  the  vestry, 
where  a  great  many  interesting  relics 
are  preserved.  Adjoining  the  vestry 
is    the  beautiful    Early  English  room 

called  Archbishop  La  Zouche's  Chapel.  He  began  building  it  in  1350,  intending  to  be 
buried  there,  but  was  called  away  in  1352,  before  it  was  ready  for  him,  so  he  was  laid 
in  the  nave.  Leaving  the  vestry,  we  turn  to  the  right  along  the  south  aisle  of  the  choir 
towards  the  Lady  Chapel.  The  principal  monuments  are  in  this  part  of  the  cathedral, 
and  it  must  be  owned  there  are  very  few  of  any  great  interest  or  beauty. 

The  first  crypt  is  nearly  square.  It  has  a  groined  roof  supported  by  six 
short  pillars,  some  of  which  have  Norman  capitals,  all  different,  and  some  very 
beautiful.  One  has  figures  dancing  round.  The  whole  effect  is  interesting,  and,  with 
the  dashes  of  sunlight  that  find  their  wA.y  in,  quite  charming,  but  it  is  perplexing  to 
find  stones  of  many  different  styles  in  this  part  of  the  building,  so  that  no  date  can 
be  assigned  to  it,  and  records  are  not  explicit. 

We  descend  a  few  more  steps  and  are  in  the  crypt  proper — Roger's  glorious 
work — begun   in    1171.      Four    of    the    original    magnificent    pillars    remain    with    their 


TINWORTirS   TERRA-COTTA    "  CRT'CIFIXION." 


130  York  Minster. 

zigzag  aud  diaper  pattern,  and  the  remains  of  four  slender  pillars  round  eacli. 
Between  them  are  the  bases  of  small  columns.  Outside  these  are  some  walls  of  the 
older  Norman  church,  which  in  some  places  encase  the  herring-bone  stonework  of 
the  Saxon.  But  the  interest  of  this  most  interesting  place  centres  in  an  earthy  mound 
just  under  the  site  of  the  Norman  high  altar.  And  here  let  us  pause.  This  is  the 
spot  hallowed  for  centuries  as  that  upon  which  King  Edwin  was  baptised,  and  where 
his  head  was  brought  home  to  be  buried.  The  first  date  that  stands  out  clear  and 
certain  is  April  12th,  Easter  Day,  627,  when  Paulinus  baptised  King  Edwin,  two  of 
his    children,    and    "  many    other    persons    of   distinction    and    royal    birth."     A   little 


THE   VESTRY. 

wooden  hut  was  the  beginning  of  York  Minster,  but  over  it  rose  a  larger  church  of 
stone,  which  Edwin  did  not  live  to  finish.  That  task  was  accomplished  about  642 
by  Oswald,  his  successor.  It  was  repaired  by  St.  Wilfrid  about  720,  and  destroyed 
by  fire  in  741,  rebuilt  by  Egbert  (732-766),  first  Archbishop  since  Paiilinus,  and 
demolished  by  the  Danes.  Thomas  of  Bayeaux — chaplain  to  King  William,  and 
first  Archbishop  after  the  Conquest — rebuilt  the  church,  but  it  was  again  burnt  in 
1 137 — this  time  only  partially — along  with  St.  Mary's  Abbey  and  thirty-nine  parish 
churches  !  This  was  in  the  episcopacy  of  Thurston,  and  perhaps  his  time  was  too 
much  occupied  with  military   matters,   and  rousing  up  the  monks   of    St.   Mary's,   for 


Vofk  Miiis.lcr.  133 

liiin  to  begin  any  restoration.  This  work  was  taken  in  hand  by  Roger,  his  snccessor, 
wlio  lived  to  finish  the  Norman  choir,  and  the  crypt  of  which  we  now   speak. 

The  chapter-house,  by  some  considered  the  gem  of  all,  is  octagonal  in  shape 
with  no  central  pillar,  a  window  on  each  side  with  six  arches  below  each,  and  a  seat 
under  each  arch  separated  by  pillars  of  Purbeck  marble.  All  sorts  of  quaint  little 
carvings  are  in  the  canopies  of  these  stalls.  One  is  a  devil  taking  the  crown  from  a 
king's  head  ;  another  a  monk  and  a  nun  kissing.  The  original  glass,  mostly  heraldic, 
of  Early  Decorated  date,  remains  in  all  except  the  east  window,  which  is  modern 
and  very  humiliating. 

Looking  back  along  the  vale  of  years,  how  many  memories  come  thronging  up 
as  we  gaze  upon  York  Cathedral  or  linger  beneath  its  over-arching  roof !  Kings  and 
saints  have  knelt  where  we  kneel,  have  pra^'ed  where  we  pray.  Here  from  age  to 
age  have  come  the  warrior  in  his  strength,  the  old  man  with  his  hoary  "  crown  of 
glor}',"  the  sinner  with  liis  burden,  the  maiden  with  her  joy.  Here  (in  1221)  the 
Princess  Joan,  daughter  of  King  John,  though  only  eleven  years  old,  was  married  to 
Alexander  H.  of  Scotland,  and  here  thirtv-one  years  later  came  her  little  niece, 
Margaret  of  England,  to  be  united  to  Alexander  HI.  That  was  indeed  a  gay 
Christmas.  Henry  HI.  and  his  queen  and  court  were  there,  and  the  royal  family  of 
Scotland,  to  witness  the  union  of  the  two  children.  Neither  the  bride  nor  the  bride- 
groom was  j'et  eleven !  A  thousand  knights  in  robes  of  silk  attended  the  bride, 
while  the  King  of  Scotland  was  surrounded  by  the  most  distinguished  vassals  of  his 
crown,  and  by  the  highest  dignitaries  of  the  Scottish  Church.  Tournaments  and 
balls  and  processions  succeeded  each  other  for  many  days  ;  and  such  was  the  number 
of  the  guests  and  the  profuse  hospitality  of  the  hosts,  that  six  hundred  oxen  were 
killed  for  one  feast.  In  the  midst  of  the  festivities  an  attempt  was  made  to  make 
the  King  of  Scotland  do  homage  for  his  kingdom  to  the  King  of  England ;  but  the 
bo}',  with  a  spirit  and  discretion  above  his  years,  refused  to  take  a  step  of  such 
importance  without  the  consent  of  the  estates  of  his  realm.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  King  William  had  been  entrapped  into  that  very  act  of  homage  at  York  by 
Henry  I.  (1175),  and  placed  his  spear  and  shield  on  the  altar.  At  that  altar 
(January,  132S)  another  and  even  more  distinguished  voung  couple  began  their  long 
and  happy  married  life,  Edward  III.  and  Philippa  of  Hainault.  He  Avas  not  yet 
seventeen,  and  she  was  onh'  fourteen  years  of  age.  Yet  another  princess  bride  came 
to  York,  Margaret  Tudor,  sister  of  Henry  VIII. ,  when  on  her  way  to  be  married  to 
James  IV.  of  Scotland  (July,  1503).  She  lodged  in  the  palace  of  the  Archbishop, 
and  went  more  than  once  to  the  minster,  and  St.  William's  head  was  brought  for 
her  to  kiss.  She  wore  a  gorgeous  dress  of  cloth  of  gold.  In  after  years  she  would 
perhaps  look  back  at  the  days  in  York  as  among  the  palmiest  of  her  life,  for  her 
husband  hated  his  father-in-law,  and  visited    his  repugnancy  upon  his  wife. 


134 


York  Minster. 


From  wedding  to  funeral — so  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Here  was  buried  the 
head  of  King  Edwin,  founder  of  the  church,  and  Eadbert,  one  of  his  successors  on 
the  throne  of  Northumbria.  Here  the  remains  of  Tosti,  Tiger  of  the  North, 
brother  of  Harold,  were  brought  after  the  battle  of  Stamford  Bridge,  to  rest   quietly  at 

last.  Here,  when  pious  hands 
brought  Archbishop  Gerard 
home  to  his  grave  (1108),  the 
crowd  pelted  his  coffin  with 
stones,  because  he  had  died  with 
his  head  on  an  astronomical 
book !  Here  is  the  last  home 
of  two  of  our  noblest  Arch- 
bishops, Scrope  and  Nevill,  the 
first  put  to  death  by  the  fourth 
Henry,  the  second  "  done "  to 
death  by  the  fourth  Edward,  in 
revenge  for  the  deeds  of  his 
brother,  the  king-maker ;  and 
here  was  laid  in  the  cold  earth 
the  fier}'  Harry  Hotspur.  These 
are  the  towers  which  Cardinal 
Wolsey,  Archbishop  of  York, 
saw  from  Cawood  ;  he  was  sum- 
moned south  before  he  had 
taken  a  nearer  view. 

In  conclusion,  let  me 
quote  from  old  Drake's  time- 
honoured  volume  :  "  Let  it  be 
then  the  praj^er  of  all  good 
men  that  this  glorious  build- 
ing, the  great  monument  of  our 
forefathers'  piety,  may  never 
want  a  governor  less  devoted  to 
its  preservation  than  the  last 
two  actually  were  or  the  presetit  seems  to  be.  That  this  fabrick  may  stand  firm,  and 
transmit  to  late  posterity  the  virtues  of  its  founders,  and  continue,  what  it  has  long 
been,  not  only  a  singular  ornament  to  the  city  and  these  northern  parts,  but  to  the 
whole  kingdom." 


NORTH   AISLE   OF  THE   CHOIR. 


DIGNITARIES. 


ARCHBISHOP   MAGEE. 


WILLIAM  CONNOR  MAGEE,  D.  D. 

ONE  of  the  greatest  orators  and  most  brilliant  controversialists  of  onr  day  passed 
from  the  scene  when  the  last  Archbishop  of  York,  William  Connor  Magee, 
died,  May  5,  1S91.  His  oratory,  persuasive  clearness  and  terseness  of  ex- 
pression were  accompanied  by  withering  powers  of  sarcasm,  much  logical  reasoning 
and  humourous  illustration,  expressed  in  a  full-toned  voice,  capable  of  sounding 
every  gradation  of  feeling.  His  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords  in  opposition  to  the 
disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church,  condemning  the  bill  as  unjust,  impolitic  and 
opposed  to  the  verdict  of  the  nation,  Lord  Salisbury  said  the  greatest  authorities 
considered  the  finest  speech  ever  delivered  by  an}'  living  man  in  either  house  of 
Parliament.  "  Every  sentence  tells  and  every  shot  hits."  It  is  said  that  most  ora- 
tors objected  to  speak  after  him.  He  was  consecrated  November  16,  1S68,  Bishop  of 
Peterborough,  and  ruled  the  Diocese  wisely  and  vigourously,  and  although  his 
strong  hand  occasionally   provoked  opposition,  his    efficiency   was  appreciated  by  clergy 

and  laity. 

(137) 


WILLIAM  DALRYMPLE  MACLAGAN,  D.  D. 

THE  present  occupant  of  the  northern  primacy,  William  Dalrymple  Maclagan, 
D.  D.,  a  Scotchman  by  birth  (in  1826),  resembles  some  of  our  American 
Bishops,  who  were  indeed  of  the  Church  militant  in  a  very  literal  way  before 
they  received  their  spiritual  commission,  and  fought  in  the  Federal  or  Confederate 
armies  during  the  Civil  War,  Like  them.  Dr.  Maclagan  served  in  early  life  in  the 
army,  retiring  from  the  East  Indian  service  with  the  rank  of  Lieutenant  in  1852. 
Afterwards  he  went  through  an  university  course,  and  was  ordained.  He  became 
Bishop  of  Lichfield,  June    24,   1S78,  and  was  translated    to    York   in    1891. 

Dr.  Maclagan's  views  ou  the  attitude  of  the  Church  in  relation  to  the  social 
question  are  worth  giving  here,  as  they  are  of  value  at  the  present  time,  and  apply 
equally  well  to  all  nations.  He  says  :  "  The  aims  of  the  Church  should  be  to  regu- 
late the  relations  between  the  wealthy  and  the  needy,  that  the  rich  may  employ 
their  wealth,  not  selfishly,  but  for  the  greatest  happiness  for  the  greatest  number, 
and  this  end  would  be  brought  about  less  by  legal  compulsion  than  b}^  that  moral 
influence  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Church  in  every  direction  to  promote."  As 
to  the  question  of  disestablishment,  his  belief  is  that  the  lesson  of  caution  should 
be  learned  from  the  fate  of  the  Irish  Church,  but  hope  may  be  had  from  the 
example  of  the  American  Church. 
(138) 


ARCHBISHOP   MACLAGAN. 


DURHAM   CATHEDRAL. 


LINDISFARNE. 


DURHAM. 


THE  romance  of  tliis  great  cathedral  of  the  north  may  be  said  to  begin,  as  far  as 
the  visitor  of  to-day  is  concerned,  with  the  impression  which  its  enormons  propor- 
tions make  as  he  stands  on  Framwellgate  Bridge.  From  the  banks  of  the 
Wear  he  looks  np  a  steep  cliff  to  where  that  great  pile  crowns  the  height :  "  half 
house  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the  Scot.  "  On  the  edge  of  the  same  cliff,  and  on  a 
level  with  the  cathedral,  frowns  the  companion  castle.  The  river  Wear  almost  en- 
circling the  hill  on  which  both  cathedral  and  castle  stand  is  the  completion  which 
nature  has  given  to  a  position  of  unequaled    security. 

The  origin  of  the  cathedral  connects  itself  with  the  character  of  the  great  St. 
Cuthbert,  the  saintly  Bishop  of  Lindisfarne.  The  grave  evangelist  of  the  north  lived 
in  simplest  and  austerest  manner  on  the  Northumbrian  coast.  As  Bishop  of  Lindis- 
farne, in  succession  to  St.  Aidan,  he  made  a  name  for  holiness  which  has  never  died 
away.  He  made  Christ  in  his  own  age  such  a  realit}-  in  the  north  that  he  can 
never  be  forgotten.  Retired  in  his  latter  days  to  one  of  the  Fame  Islands,  rendered 
illustrious  centuries  later  by  the  fame  of  Grace  Darling,  Cuthbert  passed  thence  into 
the  life  to  come  in  the  year  687.  His  bodj'  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne,  or  Holy 
Island,  and  preserved  there  as  a  sainted  relic.     Two  hundred  years    passed  away,  and  the 

body  of  the   saint   rested  quietly  in    Lindisfarne.     But  in  S75   the  Danes  were  fiercely 

(143) 


144 


Du7-hafn. 


ravaging  Nortliumbria,  and  in  consternation  at  their  approach  the  inhabitants  of  Holy 
Island  fled  with  the  precious  body,  and  it  found,  for  the  time  being,  a  resting-place  in 
Chester-le-Street,  half-way  between  Newcastle  and  Durham.  A  century  later,  in  995, 
the  body  was  transferred  to  Durham  and  with  it  the  seat  of  the  northern  bishopric. 

The  visitor  to  Durham  Cathedral  will  notice  in  a  niche  of  a  turret  on  the  north 
wall   of  the  building   the    sculpture  of  the   famous   Dun  Cow.     The  present    sculpture 

is  a  modern  reproduction  of 
a  much  more  ancient  work. 
This  curious  sculpture  com- 
memorates the  legend  which 
connects  itself  with  the  choice 
of  this  site  for  the  final  resting- 
place  of  St.  Cuthbert's  remains. 
The  legend  runs  that  after  the 
removal  from  Chester-le-Street, 
St.  Cuthbert  announced  in  a  vis- 
ion his  determination  to  rest  at 
Dun-holm.  The  place  was  un- 
known ;  but  whilst  the  monks 
were  wandering  in  search  of  it, 
a  woman  was  heard  asking  an- 
other if  she  had  seen  her  cow 
that  had  strayed,  and  the  an- 
swer was,  "  It's  down  in  Dun- 
holm."  Dun-holm  signifies  the 
hill-meadow,  and  Durham  is  its 
modern  equivalent.  It  was,  in- 
deed, nothing  but  a  rough  field, 
which  the  bearers  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert's body  found  when  they 
$'      W       .^  -  ■-  '  arrived  from  Chester-le-Street. 

1 £ — \ -^ ^ — J  A  small  church  of  twisted 

THE  DUN  COW.  boughs  was  at  once  formed  until 

a  more  permanent  building  of  wood  could  be  prepared.  This  again  w^as  succeeded  by  a 
stone  building,  in  which,  in  the  3'ear  999,  the  body  of  the  saint  was  reverently  laid.  But 
a  grander  structure  was  to  be  the  memorial  of  the  great  missionary  bishop.  We  have 
come  now  to  the  Norman  Conquest  and  to  that  great  leap  in  architecture  which  England 
took  under  the  inspiration  of  the  continental  influences  for  which  the  invasion  of  William 
the  Conqueror  had  opened  the  way.     Wales  and  Scotland  with  their  highland  fastnesses 


Diirlici))!. 


145 


were  sources  of  coutiniial  danger  to  the  security  of  the  crown.  William,  therefore,  formed 
the  two  Palatinate  counties  of  Chester  and  Durham.  These  counties  Palatine,  as  they 
were  called,  were  two  large  areas,  over  each  of  which  was  placed  a  vicegerent  to  act  for 
the  King,  and  who  was  called  a  Count  Palatine.  This  functionary  held  a  very  similar 
position  to  a  modern  vicero3\  Most  of  the  powers  of  the  crown  were  vested  in  the 
Count  to  exercise  at  discretion  over  the  area  of  his  Palatinate. 

The  Palatine  of  Chester  was  a  temporal  lord,  but  the  Palatine  of  Durham  was  a 
spiritual  peer — he  was  the  Bishop  of  the  see — the  distinguishing  title  he  received  was 
that  of  a  Prince  Bishop.     As  a  suitably  imposing  residence  for  the  Prince  Bishop  of  the 


HOLY    ISLAND   FISHKRWOMEN. 

Palatinate  of  Durham,  the  Conqueror  founded  Durham  Castle.  The  See  of  Durham, 
therefore,  from  the  early  times  of  the  Conquest  gained  a  precedence  of  dignity  over  all 
other  bishoprics. 

But  we  must  hasten  on  to  the  episcopate  of  William  of  St.  Carileph  (1081-1096), 
who,  in  1083,  gathered  together  at  Durham  the  Benedictine  monks  previously  located 
at  Wearmouth  and  at  Jarrow.  Ten  years  later  Carileph  commenced  the  present  lordly 
structirre,  one  of  the  grandest  specimens  of  the  massive  Norman  architecture  which  can 
be  found  anywhere.  By  the  time  of  Carileph's  death  onl}'  the  choir  had  been  com- 
pleted.     Four    years    elapsed    before    the  appointment    of  another    Bishop,    but    during 


146 


Diirkavt. 


those  four  years  the  monks  themselves  worked  at  the  transepts.  The  next  Bishop, 
Ralph  Flambard  (1099-1128),  completed  the  nave.  In  the  year  1104  the  body  of  St. 
Cuthbert  was  brought  to  its  final  resting-place  and  laid  behind  the  altar.  In  quick 
succession  subsequent  prelates  completed  the  adjuncts  of  the  cathedral  and  the  ex- 
tensive monastic  buildings  which  occupied  the  south   side   of  the  church. 

With  this  hasty  review  of  the  history  of  the  building  we  must  pass  on  and  say 
a  few  words  upon  each  of  the  most  noteworthy  features  of  the  structure.  And  first 
of  all  the  north  entrance  door  tells  an  interesting  tale.     The  present  door  is  a  modern 

restoration,  and  some  of  the  original 
features  of  the  famous  entrance  have 
been  obliterated.  Towards  this  door 
many  a  poor  wretch  hastening  to 
escape  the  hands  of  the  avenger  has 
sped  his  fearful  steps  in  days  gone 
by.  Attached  to  the  door  still  glares 
a  fearful-looking  metallic  head  hold- 
ing a  ring  in  its  mouth.  In  its 
now  ej'eless  sockets  were  once  in  all 
probability  balls  of  crystal  or  enamel. 
When  once  the  ring  was  grasped  by 
the  hand  of  the  fugitive  he  was  safe. 
He  had  claimed  the  "  peace "  of  St. 
Cuthbert  and  the  sanctity  of  the 
neighbouring  shrine  shielded  him. 
Above  the  door  bj-  day  and  night 
watched  relays  of  monks  to  admit 
those  who  claimed  sanctuary.  So 
soon  as  ever  the  fugitive  had  reached 
the  door  he  was  admitted.  This  done 
he  had  to  confess  the  crime  of  which 
he  was  guilty,  and  his  statement  was  taken  down  in  writing.  All  the  while  a  bell 
was  tolling  to  give  notice  that  some  one  had  taken  refuge  in  the  church.  Then  the 
culprit  was  arrayed  in  a  black  gown  with  a  yellow  cross  on  his  left  shoulder,  and 
remained  within  the  precincts  for  thirty-seven  days.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  he 
could  not  obtain  a  pardon  of  the  civil  authorities,  he  was  conveyed  across  the  seas  to 
commence  his  life  again  elsewhere. 

As  we  pass  within  we  find  ourselves  in  full  sight  of  the  imposing  interior,  which, 
including  the  Galilee  Chapel,  measures  461  feet  in  length.  The  uniform  character  of 
the  architecture  and   its    enormous    solidity  produces  the  feeling,  so  well  expressed  by 


THK    SANCTUARY    KNOCKKR. 


Durliani.  149 

Dr.  Johnson,  of  "  rocky  solidity  and  indeterminate  dnration."  The  whole  extent  of 
the  cathedral  can  now  be  seen  from  the  west  end,  bnt  before  the  Reformation  a  series 
of  screens  divided  the  eastern  or  choir  portion  from  the  nave.  The  choir  was  then 
the  church  of  the  monks  and  the  nave  the  church  of  the  people.  At  that  time  in 
front  of  the  choir  screen  stood  the  Jesus  Altar,  having  painted  above  it  on  the  screen 
carved  figures  descriptive  of  the  Life  and  Passion  of  our  Lord ;  above  again  were 
figures  of  the  Apostles.  This,  of  course,  has  been  removed  long  since,  and  lately  in  its 
place  has  been  erected  a  modern  screen,  which  in  no  way  impedes  either  sight  or 
sound.  The  choir  itself,  apart  from  the  beauty  of  its  architecture,  contains  many  ob- 
jects of  interest. 

The  most  noticeable  feature  is  the  great  screen  behind  the  altar,  called  the  Ne- 
ville Screen,  on  account  of  its  expense  being  in  a  large  measure  borne  by  Lord  Neville 
of  Rab\'.  The  screen  was  erected  in  13S0.  The  prior  of  the  day  employed  at  his 
own  expense  seven  masons  for  nearly  a  year  to  fix  the  screen,  the  execution  of  which 
is  supposed  to  have  been  the  fruit  of  the  labours  of  French,  artists.  The  screen  origin- 
ally was  much  more  elaborate  than  at  present,  being  covered  with  rich  colour,  and 
every  niche  filled  with  sculptured  figures,  but  even  now  its  present  appearance  is 
graceful.  On  the  south  side  of  the  choir  lies  the  body  of  Bishop  Hatfield.  The 
Bishop's  effigy,  fully  vested,  lies  upon  an  altar  tomb  beneath  a  canopy,  and  above  rises 
the  episcopal  throne  which  he  himself  designed.  The  throne  is  lofty  and  imposing, 
and  ascended  by  a  flight  of  stairs.  At  the  back  of  the  throne  rich  tabernacle  work 
fills  in  the  space  of  the  choir  arch. 

Behind  the  altar  is  the  great  eastern  transept,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Nine  Altars.  The  architecture  here  is  in  striking  contrast  to  that  of  the  choir  and 
nave,  being  a  magnificent  specimen  of  early  English  architecture  of  the  thirteenth 
centur3^ 

The  most  interesting  feature  of  this  part  of  the  cathedral  is  the  lofty 
platform  which  adjoins  the  back  of  the  altar,  and  wherein  lies  the  body  of  St. 
Cuthbert.  The  platform  is  approached  from  two  doors  on  the  side  of  the  altar,  and 
the  much-worn  pavement  gives  witness  to  the  number  of  pilgrims  who  from  time  to 
time  have  visited  the  spot.  At  the  dissolution  of  the  monaster}-  the  visitors  broke 
open  the  iron-bound  chest  in  which  the  body  of  St.  Cuthbert  la\',  and  "  found  him 
l3ang  whole,  uncorrupt,  with  his  face  bare,  and  his  beard  as  of  a  fortnight's  growth, 
and  all  the  vestments  about  him  as  he  was  accustomed  to  sa\^  Mass,  and  his  met 
wand  of  gold  lying  by  him."  The  relics  were  removed  until  "  the  King's  pleasure 
should  be  known."  And  when  at  a  later  time  the  King's  pleasure  was  apparentl_v 
understood,  the  body  was  again  buried  in  its  former  place.  In  the  3'ear  1827  the 
tomb  was  once  more  opened,  and  a  skeleton  was  found  wrapped  in  robes  -which  had 
once   been   of  great   richness.     A   skull   was   also   found   which   was   supposed   to  be  the 


15° 


Durham. 


skull     of    King     Oswald,     whicli,    according     to     tradition,     had    been    placed    in    St. 

Cuthbert's  coffin.     The  skeleton  and    the  skull  were  re-enclosed   in  another  coffin,  and 

interred  beneath  the  platform  behind  the  altar. 

There    is,  however,  a    tradition  that  the   real    bod}-  of   St.   Cuthbert  was  secretly 

conveyed  awa}'  by  the 
monks  at  some  time  and 
buried  in  a  certain  part 
of  the  cathedral,  which 
is  only  known  to  three 
members  of  the  Bene- 
dictine order,  who,  as 
each  one  dies,  choose  a 
successor.  In  allusion 
to  this  legend  (for  prob- 
ably it  has  no  real  foun- 
dation) the  lines  of  Scott 
ma}-  be  quoted  : — 

"  There  deep  in  Dnrliam's  Gothic 

shade 
His  rehcs  are  in  secret  laid, 

But  none  nia\-  know  the  place  ; 
Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three, 
Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 
Who  share  that  wondrous  grace." 

The  Galilee  Chapel 
must  not  be  omitted  in  a 
description  of  the  church. 
It  was  designed  for  the 
sake  and  for  the  use  of 
the  women  who  wished 
to  worship  in  the  church. 
Its  name  of  Galilee  has 
probably  some  reference 
to  Galilee  of  the  Gen- 
tiles, and  implies  that  it 
was  considered  less  sacred  than  the  rest  of  the  cathedral.  St.  Cuthbert  had  a  more 
than  usual  monkish  fear  of  women,  and  they  were  not  allowed  to  approach  the  shrine. 
A  cross  let  into  the  pavement  of  the  nave  at  the  far  west  end  curiously  marks  the 
far-removed  spot  nearer  than  which  women  might  not  approach.  The  prejudices  of  the 
good  saint  were  thus  perpetuated  long  after  his  death. 


THE   BISHOPS   THRONE. 


Durham. 


153 


The  whole  effect  is  light  and  graceful,  and  if  the  women  were  not  allowed 
to  enter  farther  than  the  western  extremity  of  the  church,  they  certainly  had  a  most 
beautiful  place  of  worship.  The  most  interesting  monument  here  is  the  plain  altar 
slab  which  marks  the  burial-place  of  the  great  Northumbrian  scholar.  On  the  tomb 
are  engraved  the  well-known  words,  Hac  sitnf  in  fossa  Bedce  Vcnerabilis  ossa  (In  this 
grave  lie  the  bones  of  the  Venerable  Bede).  According  to  the  old  legend  the  monk, 
who  was  casting  about  for  a  word  to  complete  the  scansion  of  his  line  between 
"  Bedse "  and  "  ossa,"  left  a  space  blank  until  he  could  in  the  morning  return  to 
his  task  with    a  mind  refreshed.      However,  during  the  night  an   unknown   hand  added 


THE   GALILEK   CHAPEL. 

the    metrically    suitable    "  Venerabilis."     This,  according    to    the    legend,    is    the    origin 
of    the    peculiar   prefix    Venerable,  alwaj-s    associated    with    the    name   of    Bede. 

We  must  not  forget  that  Durham  Cathedral  was  the  church  of  a  great 
monastic  house  until  the  Reformation.  The  whole  fabric  was  cared  for  with  infinite 
pains  by  the  monks,  and  in  some  measure  was  actually  built  by  them.  Closely 
attached  to  the  cathedral  on  its  south  side  are  the  remains  of  the  monastery,  which 
show  one  what  a  large  community  once  lived  under  the  shadow  of  the  church.  The 
cloisters  raise  up  many  thoughts  of  the  busy  stream  of  life  which  in  the  days  of  the  old 
order  must  have  flowed  through  them.  Here  a  door  leads  into  a  refectory,  another 
into    the    church,    another    to    the    dormitory,    another    to    the    prior's    lodgings,  another 


154  Durham. 

to  the  chapter  house,  another  to  the  cemetery,  where  the  brethren  were  laid  down 
under  the  shadow  of  the  minster.  Still  to-day  we  can  stand  in  the  splendid  room 
with  its  rough  oak  beams,  as  rough  almost  as  after  their  first  felling,  where  all  the 
monks  slept.  And  here  again  is  still  intact  the  refectory  where  they  ate  their 
meals.  Here,  too,  is  the  strong  room  where  the  rebellious  monks  were  subdued  by 
a  paternal  discipline.  Still  standing  is  the  great  octagonal  kitchen  which  supplied 
the  bodily  needs  of  the  community,  and  there  the  guest  chamber  where  strangers  were 
entertained.  Ruthless  Vandalism  has  spoiled  of  all  its  beauty  the  magnificent  chapter 
house  where  the  brethren  conferred  over  their  affairs  and  position.  No  one  cau  look 
through  these  wonderfull}^  complete  remains  without  feeling  that  he  has  had  a 
glimpse  of  that  ideal  of  life  which  is  not  ours  now,  but  which  in  its  own  time  was  so 
great  a  healing  and  preserving  influence  in  a  rough  and  violent  world. 

In  the  year  1S36,  on  the  death  of  Bishop  Van  Mildert,  the  founder  of  Durham 
University,  the  title  of  Count  Palatine  ceased.  The  Prince  Bishops  came  to  an  end. 
A  peaceful  country  needed  no  more  the  defence  which  the  Bishopric  had  once 
afforded.  But  while  some  old,  and  now  happily  useless,  associations  of  the  historic  see 
were  then  removed,  its  fame  did  not  grow  less  in  popular  esteem.  With  no  name  will 
the  bishopric  be  more  associated  than  with  that  of  the  great  scholar,  ruler,  saint, 
who  has  lately  been  taken  away.  Bishop  Lightfoot  summed  up  in  himself  the 
great  qualities  of  his  predecessors — their  courage,  their  liberality,  their  firmness, 
their  massiveness,  their  saintliness,  their  learning.  He  did  not  wield  the  traditional 
mace  of  the  Count  Palatine ;  but  his  word  was  weightier  than  a  rod  of  iron.  He 
was  not  a  Prince  Bishop,  but  he  was  a  prince  of  bishops.  Such  men,  so  richly 
endowed  as  he  was  with  wisdom  and  knowledge,  are  rare.  With  what  could  such 
a   life   be   more    fittingly    linked    than   with    the    stirring   associations   of    Durham  ? 


DIGNITARIES. 


BISHOP   LIGIITFOUT. 


JOSEPH  BARBER  LIGHTFOOT,  D.  D. 

CHRISTIAN  scliolarsliip  even  yet  laments  the  loss  of  him  who  last  held  this 
See,  Joseph  Barber  Lightfoot.  For  man}'  years,  in  varions  positions  at  Cam- 
bridge, he  was  a  most  efficient  snpporter  of  every  effort  to  increase  the  usefnl- 
ness  of  the  university.  As  a  scholar  he  sat  upon  the  commission  for  revision  of  the 
English  translation  of  the  Bible,  and  was  of  great  influence  in  determining  its  char- 
acter. April  25,  1S79,  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Durham.  With  great  thor- 
oughness and  success  he  devoted  himself  to  every  department  of  his  unaccustomed 
work,  neglecting  no  routine,  and  making  the  best  of  all  existing  resources,  being  quick 
to  discern  deficiencies  and  devise  or  adopt  agencies  for  supplying  them.  Himself  a 
bachelor,  he  turned  his  episcopal  palace  into  a  theological  seminary  and  spent  every 
penny  of  his  diocesan  income  on  the  See.  So  contagious  was  his  active  enthusiasm, 
that  rich  men  were  afraid  to  go  to  his  meetings,  at  one  of  which  ^^30,000  was  sub- 
scribed in  the  room.  It  has  been  said  there  seemed  nothing  he  could  not  do  in  the 
best  possible  way;  as  scholar,  teacher,  speaker,  author,  and  administrator,  his  work 
remains  a  model.  As  a  great  Biblical  critic,  and  the  leading  patristic  scholar  of  his 
time,  the  prevailing  characteristics  of  all  his  writings  show  him  to  have  had  a 
calm,  judicial  temper  of  mind,  and  great  sagacity  in  dealing  with  the  materials  out  of 
which  history  has  to  be  constructed.  As  one  hardly  in  sympathy  with  his  position  said, 
"  His  editions  and  commentaries,  as  well  as  his  critical  dissertations,  have  an  imper- 
ishable value,  and  even  where   it  is    impossible    to  agree    with  his  results,  his  grounds 


are  never  to  be  neglected." 


(157) 


BROOKE  FOSS  WESTCOTT,  D.  D.,  D.  C.  L. 

THE  Right  Rev.  Brooke  Foss  Westcott,  D.  D.,  D.  C.  L.,  (born  1825,)  who  suc- 
ceeded his  friend,  Dr.  Lightfoot,  in  the  Bishopric  of  Durham,  May  i,  1S90, 
has  been  active  in  all  Church  matters  of  his  time.  He  was  one  of  the  company 
for  the  revision  of  the  Authorized  Version  of  the  New  Testament,  the  Greek  text 
followed  by  the  revisers  being  credited  largely  to  his  influence.  He  sat  on  the  late 
Ecclesiastical  Courts  Commission  and  took  a  large  share  in  drawing  up  the  report. 
He  is  an  ardent  advocate  of  what  is  known  as  "Christian  Socialism,"  and  distin- 
guished himself  as  the  successful  arbitrator  of  labour  disputes  in  his  Diocese.  With 
his  friend.  Prof.  F.  J.  A.  Hort,  in  iSSi,  he  issued  a  New  Testament  in  Greek,  the 
result  of  twenty-eight  years'  labour  on  the  text.  He  has  also  written  valuable  com- 
mentaries on  the  writings  of  St.  John,  and  scholarly  introductions  to  the  study  of  the 
New  Testament.  Since  the  publishing  of  his  writings  while  Regius  Professor  of 
Divinity  at  Cambridge,  he  has  stood  in  the  front  rank  of  the  distinguished  scholars 
and  theologians. 
(158) 


BISHOP   WESTCOTT. 


LINCOLN   CATHEDRAL. 


LINCOLN. 


^^T^EAUTIFUL  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the  whole  earth.  On  the  north  side 
jj  lieth  the  city  of  the  Great  King."  These  words  of  the  Psalmist  instinc- 
tively occur  to  the  mind  when  one  gazes  up  from  below  at  Lincoln 
Minster,  seated  in  queenly  majesty  on  what  Wordsworth  so  aptly  styles  her  "sov- 
ereign hill,"  looking  down  in  serene  repose  from  her  northern  height  on  the  din 
and  turmoil  of  the  bus}-  streets  and  crowded  factories  which  fill  the  valley  below, 
or  climb  the  steep  hillside.  Nor  is  the  first  impression  lessened  on  closer  ap- 
proach. The  nearer  we  get  to  it,  tlie  more  minutel}^  we  examine  it,  the  more  fully 
shall  we  realise  the  exquisite  grace,  both  of  the  building  as  a  whole  and  of  its 
separate    parts,  down    to    its    minutest    detail. 

But  be3-ond  its  architectural  glories,  beyond  the  memory  of  the  great  and 
good  men  who  have  presided  over  the  see  of  which  it  is  the  centre,  beyond  the 
stirring  events  of  which  it  has  been  the  sceue,  that  which  makes  Lincoln  Minster 
a  veritable  piece  of  the  histor}^  of  our  country,  which  gives  it  its  highest  dignity, 
is  the  fact  that  it  is  a  hou.se  of  God,  a  Christian  church ;  for  eight  centuries  the 
home  and  gathering-place  of  Christian  souls,  where  they  have  met  to  hold  com- 
munion with  their  God,  that  they  might  learn  how  to  serve  Him  more  truly  and 
gain  strength  to  do  so.  To  this  sacred  character  it  owes  its  permanence.  Castles 
and  fortresses  framed  with  even  greater  strength  have  passed  away,  or  exist  only 
in  shattered  ruins :  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln  and  her  fair  sisters  remain  in  all, 
or  more  than  all,  their  pristine  glory.  As  Dean  Stanle}^  has  eloquently  said  of 
his  own  Abbey  of  Westminster,  "  Whatever  our  cathedrals  have  become  of  heroic, 
or  historic,  or  artistic,  they  would  have  ceased  to  be  if  they  had  not  been  over 
all,  and  above  all,  places  dedicated  for  ever  to  the  worship  of  Almighty  God." 
Such  thoughts  as  these  fitly  rise  in  the  mind  as  we  make  our  way  along  the 
High  street,  crowded  with  market-folk  and  factory  hands,  and  slowly  climb  the 
hill,  justly  called    "The    Steep,"  to    the    cathedral    precincts. 

On    reaching    the    summit    of    the    almost    precipitous    ascent,  glad    enough    to 

be   on    level    ground    once    more,  we    turn    to    the    right,  with    the    castle    gate    behind 

(163) 


164 


Lincoln. 


us,  aud  in  front  the  massive  western  gateliouse  of  the  Close,  known  as  the  Ex- 
chequer Gate  from  the  Minster  accounts  having  been  kej^t  there  in  old  times, 
with  the  cathedral  towers  and  the  upper  part  of  the  west  front  soaring  above  it. 
Under  the  shelter  of  this  archway  we  may  do  well  to  pause  a  few  minutes,  and, 
while  we  recover  breath  after  our  climb,  take  a  brief  review  of  the  history  of  the 
building. 

Begun    abont    1074,  the    church  was    ready  for   consecration    in    1092.     The   9th 
of    May  was  fixed   for   the    rite.     King    Rufus    had    summoned    all    the    prelates    and 

great  lords  of  the  realm  to  the  cere- 
mony, which  was  to  be  of  the  grand- 
est. But  it  did  not  take  place.  Three 
days  before  the  day  fixed,  the  founder 
of  the  church  breathed  his  last,  to 
find  a  grave  in  the  still  unhallowed 
fane. 

Where  we  stand  we  have  before 
us  the  only  visible  remnant  of  this 
first  cathedral,  in  the  central  portion 
of  the  western  fa9ade.  It  is  character- 
ised by  the  stern,  almost  savage, 
plainness  of  the  Early  Norman  style. 
Three  deep,  cavernous  recesses,  their 
arches  unrelieved  by  moulding  or 
chamfer,  break  the  flat,  unadorned 
wall. 

In  1 141,  the  minster  having 
lost  its  roof  and  been  otherwise 
damaged  by  an  accidental  fire,  such 
as  were  continually  occurriug  in  the 
flat  timber-ceiled  Norman  churches, 
Alexander,  nephew  of  Henry's  mighty 
Chancellor,  Roger,  vaulted  the  whole  church  with  stone,  and  repaired  the  injury  "with 
such  subtle  artifice,"  writes  the  chronicler,  "that  it  looked  fairer  than  its  first  newness." 
As  we  have  already  said,  the  western  doorways,  of  remarkable  beauty  aud  richness,  the 
lower  portions  of  the  towers,  and  the  side  gables,  bear  witness  to  Alexander's  munificence 
and  the  skill  of  his  architect.  The  towers  were  originally  capped  with  tall  spires  of 
timber,  covered  with  lead.  These  were  removed  at  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century — the 
precise  date  and  the  name  of  the  builder  are  entirely  unknown — when  the  lofty  belfry 
storeys,  which  soar  into  the  air  above  us  with  their  tall  coupled  windows,  were  added. 


BISHOP   ALRXAXDKR'S    DOORWAY. 


Lincoln.  165 

Much  as  there  is  to  see  witliin  and  about  the  miuster,  we  caunot  yet  leave 
the  west  front.  It  will  be  seen  that  Remigius's  plain  Norman  walls  are  set  in  a 
kind  of  frame  of  richly  arcaded  work  of  Early  English  date.  Though  architect- 
urally a  mistake,  for  it  does  not  honestly  answer  to  anything  behind  it,  and  is 
little  more  than  an  ornamental  screen-wall,  no  one  can  deny  that  the  west  front 
of   Lincoln    is    a    composition    of  singular    grandeur    of    outline    and    beauty  of  detail. 

The  front  is  flanked  by  tall  turrets  crowned  with  spirelets.  That  to  the 
south  bears  on  its  summit  the  mitred  statue  of  St.  Hugh,  the  holy  bishop  who 
may  be  trul}'  called  the  second  founder  of  the  cathedral ;  on  that  to  the  north 
is  seen  the  famous  "  Swineherd  of  Stow,"  a  thirteenth-century  Gurth  blowing  his 
horn  to  call  his  herd  together.  The  story  goes  that  he  saved  a  peck  of  silver 
pennies  in  his  life-time  and  bequeathed  his  hoard  to  the  fabric  of  the  minster, 
and  that  the  Dean  and  Chapter  set  up  his  statue  where  all  might  see  it  and  it 
might    sa}'    to   them,  "  Go    and    do    thou    likewise." 

The  open  doors  invite  us  to  enter  the  cathedral,  but  we  must  deny  our- 
selves the  privilege  a  little  longer,  until  we  have  walked  round  the  building,  and 
rapidly  traced  its  architectural  history.  Turning  the  south  corner  of  the  front  we 
have  a  view  of  the  long  line  of  the  nave,  with  its  lancet  windows,  sturdy  but- 
tresses below,  and  flying  buttresses  above,  arcaded  clerestory,  and  western  chapels. 
Here  recorded  history  fails  us,  but  we  know  that  this  part  of  the  cathedral  must 
have  been  built  between  the  death  of  St.  Hugh  in  1200,  and  the  episcopate  of 
Grosseteste,  which  began  in  1235;  and  that  the  moving  spirit  was  probably 
Grosseteste's  predecessor  and  patron,  another  Bishop  Hugh,  known  from  his  birth- 
place as  Hugh  of  Wells,  whose  brother  Jocelyn  was  at  the  same  time  engaged 
in   rebuilding    his    own    native  cathedral. 

The  only  certain  date  is  given  by  a  castastrophe,  which  architectural  evidence 
assures  us  must  have  taken  place  after  the  nave  and  transepts  had  been  fully 
completed.  This  was  the  collapse,  in  1237,  of  the  central  tower,  which  had  been 
recently  built,  but,  as  was  often  the  case  with  these  mid-towers,  on  pillars  too 
slight  to  sustain  the  huge  mass  they  had  to  bear.  Grosseteste  was  just  then  be- 
ginning his  vigorous  episcopate,  and  one  of  his  first  acts  was  to  put  his  own 
house — his  Cathedral  Chapter — in  order.  Much  needed  reforming  there ;  but,  as 
usually  happens  when  the  need  is  the  most  pressing,  the  subjects  of  the  reforma- 
tion resisted  it  most  indignantly.  They  stood  upon  their  rights ;  they  even  re- 
sorted to  forgery  to  maintain  them.  "  No  bishop  had  ever  visited  them ;  no  bishop 
ever  should."  In  the  full  heat  of  this  struggle  one  of  the  canons,  having  to 
preach  in  the  nave,  appealed  to  the  people  against  his  bishop.  "Such,"  he  cried, 
"  are  the  deeds  of  this  man  that  if  we  were  to  hold  our  peace  the  very  stones 
would    cry  out."     The  words  were    hardly  out    of    the    preacher's    mouth  when    down 


1 66  Lincoln. 

came  the  tower,  crusliiug  two  or  three  innocent  people  in  its  fall,  but  not  injuring 
the  chief  offender,  who  did  not  fear  to  speak  evil  of  dignities.  Grosseteste,  strong 
man  as  he  was,  disregarded  the  omen,  prosecuted  his  visitation,  purged  the  Chapter 
of  the  slothful  luxurious  men  who  were  its  disgrace,  and  manifested  equal  care 
for   the   material    fabric. 

His  renowned  episcopate,  which  shed  lustre  on  the  whole  English  Church, 
saw  the  commencement  of  the  great  central  tower,  which  is  the  chief  glory  of  the 
cathedral,  and  which  may  be  styled  one  of  the  two  or  three  most  beautiful  towers 
in  Christendom.  In  his  days  were  built  the  two  lower  store3's,  the  walls  of  which 
are  encrusted  with  the  diaper,  seen  also  in  the  gable  of  the  west  front,  and  popu- 
larly known  as  Grosseteste's  Mark.  The  cathedral  had  to  wait  till  the  end  of 
the  century  for  the  lofty  belfry  stage,  which  is  the  crowning  ornament  of  the 
central  tower,  as  pure  an  example  of  the  Decorated  style  as  the  lower  part  is  of 
the    Early  English. 

The  transepts,  or  cross-aisles,  are  intermediate  in  date  between  the  choir  and 
the  nave.  Each  of  them,  as  at  Westminster  Abbey,  has  a  circular  or  rose  window 
in  its  front.  These  round  windows — rather  a  rare  feature  in  an  English  church 
— formed  part  of  St.  Hugh's  original  plan.  The  Metrical  Chronicle  tells  us  that  they 
were  meant  to  symbolise  the  two  eyes  of  the  church ;  that  to  the  north,  on  which 
side  lay  the  deanery,  signifying  the  "  Dean's  Eye,"  watchfully  open  to  guard 
against  the  snares  of  Lucifer,  the  Evil  One,  who,  according  to  Isaiah  xiv.  13, 
"sits  in  the  sides  of  the  north;"  that  to  the  south,  overlooking  the  episcopal 
palace,  the    "  Bishop's    Eye,"    inviting    the    genial    influences    of    the    Holy  Spirit. 

Beyond  the  transepts  we  come  upon  the  most  interesting  portion  of  the 
building,  both  architecturally  and  historically — the  choir  of  St.  Hugh.  We  cannot 
here  narrate  the  career  of  this  singularly  "  holy  and  humble  man  of  heart,"  one 
of  the  most  fearless  champions  of  right  before  the  fierce  Plautagenet  Kings,  the 
constant  friend  of  the  poor,  the  outcast,  aud  the  oppressed,  whose  name  so  deserv- 
edly occupies  a  place  in  the  Anglican  Calendar  on  November  17th,  the  day  when, 
in   the   last    year   of    the  twelfth    century,  he    entered    into    rest. 

In  1 192  the  foundation  was  laid  for  the  choir,  and  before  his  death,  in  1200, 
the  choir  and  eastern  transepts,  and  a  portion  of  the  western  transept,  were  com- 
pleted. As  originally  built,  it  ended  like  Westminster  Abbey  in  a  polygonal  apse, 
with  a  six-sided  lady-chapel  behind.  But  all  beyond  the  eastern  transept  was  re- 
moved half  a  century  after  St.  Hugh's  death  for  the  erection  of  the  matchless 
"Angel  Choir,"  built  to  form  a  fitting  shrine  for  the  remains  of  the  sainted  founder, 
to  which  they  were  "translated" — such  is  the  recognised  ecclesiastical  term — in  1281, 
in  the  presence  of  Edward  I.,  his  much-loved  Queen  Eleanor,  and  their  royal  chil- 
dren, and  a  host  of  bishops  and  barons  summoned  from  all  parts  to  swell  the  pageant. 


rs"  "y  'nffnfi 


Lincoln. 


169 


With  the  erection  of  this  easternmost  portion,  in  which  English  Gothic  archi- 
tecture reaches  a  perfection  of  beauty  of  form  and  delicacy  of  detail  which  has  been 
rarely  equalled  and  never  surpassed,  the  fabric  of  the  cathedral,  with  the  exception 
of  the  towers  and  one  or  two  small  side  chantry  chapels,  was  brought  to  a  con- 
clusion. The  whole  work  of  re-edification,  from  the  laying  of  the  first  stone  of  St. 
Hugh's  church  to  the  translation  of  his  body,  occupied  something  less  than  a  centur}-, 
no  unduly  long  time  for  so  great  a  work.  In  old  times  men  built  slowly,  and  they 
built  solidly,  and  therefore  their  labour  remains.     It     >-  r- 

was  no  task  work   they  did ;    the}'  put    their  hearts , 
into  it. 

Entering  the  cathedral  by  Bishop  Alexander's 
richl)''  sculptured  and  pillared  Norman  doorway,  one 
of  the  grandest  portals  of  its  date  in  the  kingdom, 
we  have  on  each  side  of  us  one  bay  of  Remigius's 
Norman  cathedral,  plain,  stern,  solid,  lower  and 
narrower  than  that  which  has  supplanted  it.  Before 
us  stretches  the  long  arcaded  vista  of  the  vaulted 
nave,  the  work  of  the  episcopate  of  Hugh  of  Wells, 
in  the  early  part  of  the  thirteenth  century — a 
marvelous  combination  of  dignity  and  grace,  in  which 
we  hardly  know  whether  to  admire  most  the  boldness 
of  its  construction  or  the  elegance  of  its  detail. 

At  the  south-west  corner  of  the  south  transept 
stands  the  two-storeyed  Galilee  Porch,  built  to  provide 
a  state  entrance  for  the  bishop,  whose  palace  lies  a 
short  distance  to  the  south.  The  two  buildings, 
cathedral  and  palace,  are  separated  by  the  city  wall 
and  the  lofty  earthworks,  mound  and  ditch  which 
formed  the  southern  boundary  of  the  Roman  cit}'  of 
"  Liudura  Colonia."  The  bishop,  therefore,  had  no 
direct  access  to  his  cathedral  until  Henry  I.  gave  Bishop  Bloet  leave  to  pierce  the  city 
wall,  provided  it  could  be  done  without  injury  to  the  security  of  the  citizens.  The 
roundheaded  archway  then  formed  still  stands  firm  and  strong  after  the  lapse  of  nearly 
eight  centuries,  but  it  has  long  since  been  blocked  up,  and  is  now  half  buried  by  the 
rise  of  the  soil.  Past  it  runs  the  favourite  walk  of  the  present  bishop.  There,  among 
his  snow-white  pigeons  and  gorgeous  peacocks,  on  a  sunn}'  terrace  bordered  with  gay 
old-fashioned  flowers,  the  tribute  of  the  parsonage-gardens  of  the  diocese,  with  the 
stately  towers  of  the  cathedral  rising  on  one  side  and  the  bus}-  town  with  its 
tall    chimneys    and    huge   factories    filling    the   valley   below,    he    finds    what    may    be 


THE   IMP,    IN  THE   ANGEL   CHOIR. 


170 


Lincoln. 


called   a  typical    position    for  a  bishop's    residence,   "  below  the  church  and  above  the 
world." 

The  present  bishop  is  the  first  since  the  Reformation  who  has  lived  where,  as 
a  rnle,  all  bishops  ought  to  live,  in  their  cathedral  city,  and  close  to  their  cathedral 
church.  The  shameless  robbery  of  the  see  by  the  greedy  statesmen  who  exercised 
authority  in  the  name  of  the  boy-king,  Edward  VL,  compelled  the  Bishops  of  Lincoln 

to  seek  a  more  modest  home. 
So  the  palace  was  deserted — the 
palace  which  had  been  the  episco- 
pal residence  since  the  beginning 
of  the  twelfth  centur}' ;  the 
home  of  St.  Hugh  and  of 
Grosseteste ;  of  Alnwick,  the 
counsellor  of  Henry  VI.  in  his 
royal  foundation  of  Eton  and 
King's  College,  Cambridge ;  of 
Smith,  the  founder  of  Brasenose 
College,  Oxford,  in  which  Henry 
Vn.  spent  his  first  Easter  after 
liis  accession  to  the  throne,  and 
"  full  like  a  Cristen  prynce," 
with  his  own  noble  hands, 
"  humbly  and  cristenly  for 
Cr3'ste's  love,"  washed  the  feet 
of  twent3--nine  poor  men  in  the 
Great  Hall,  and  in  which  Henry 
VIII.  and  his  fifth  queen — the 
loose-living  Katherine  Howard, 
who,  the  next  5'ear,  lost  her  head 
for  acts,  of  some  of  which  this 
palace  was  the  scene — were 
received,  on  their  waj'  into  York- 
shire, by  Bishop  Longland,  the  bitter  persecutor  of  the  early  "  Gospellers." 

Then  came  the  Great  Rebellion,  when  the  palace  was  first  turned  into  a  prison, 
and  then  despoiled  of  its  lead  and  even  of  its  ironwork,  windows,  and  wainscots,  and 
all  that  would  fetch  money,  and  left  to  the  slow  but  sure  action  of  the  elements  as  a  use- 
less ruin.  In  the  dai-k  days  of  the  last  century,  when  all  reverence  for  ancient  buildings 
had  died  out,  and  they  were  regarded  as  mere  encumbrances  of  the  ground,  the  palace 
was  used  as  a  stone   quarry   for    the    repairs    of   the   cathedral,   the   chapel    was    pulled 


RUINS   OF  THE   OLD   P.-\.LACE. 


Lincoln. 


171 


down,  its  roofless  hall  was  turned  into  an  orchard,  and  each  year  saw  the  once  grand 
pile  sinking  into  more  irreparable  decay.  But  happily  the  palace  never  passed  out  of 
the  possession  of  the  see,  and  little  b}^  little  it  has  recovered  its  ancient  purpose. 
Bishop  Jackson  made  it  the  residence  of  his  secretary,  and  tlie  place  of  his  weekly 
interviews  with  his  clergy ;  Bishoji  Wordsworth,  though  unable  to  carry  out  his  much- 
cherished  wish  of  making  it  his  home,  commenced  the  work  of  restoration  in  the  re- 
pair of  Bishop  Alnwick's  Tower,  for  the  use  of  the  students  of  the  Chancellor's 
Theological  School.  The  work 
has  been  completed  by  Bishop 
King,  and  Lincoln  has  once 
more  welcomed  its  bishop  as  a 
permanent  resident.  The  old 
episcopal  chapel  being  hope- 
lessly ruined,  a  new  chapel  has 
been  cleverly  constructed  out  of 
a  portion  of  the  domestic  build- 
ings, and  additional  rooms  have 
been  built,  with  long  suites  of 
bed-chambers  for  the  reception 
of  the  clergy  and  of  the  candi- 
dates for  Orders  at  the  Ember 
seasons. 

But,  though  some  account 
of  this  historic  palace  cannot  be 
regarded  as  out  of  place,  it  is 
time  that  we  should  return  to 
the  cathedral.  Beyond  the 
transepts  is  the  choir,  the  work 
of  St.  Hugh,  at  the  close  of 
the  twelfth  century,  at  which  he 
sometimes  wrought  with  his  own 
hands,  the  earliest-dated  example 
of  pure  Gothic  in  the  country,  without  any  trammeling  admixture  of  earlier  forms, 
simple  and  dignified.  We  enter  it  under  a  richly  carved  vaulted  screen  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  originally  resplendent  with  gilding  and  colour,  on  which  now  stands  the  organ, 
but  which  in  earlier  days  supported  the  Great  Rood  or  Crucifix  with  the  images  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  and  St.  John  on  either  side.  The  choir  is  furnished  with 
a  range  of  sixty-two  stalls,  with  elbowed  seats  below,  rising  in  three  tiers  on  each 
side,  and   returned  at  the  end.     The   Dean  occupies  the   right-hand  stall  at  the  entrance  ; 


THU    NliW   EPISCOPAL   CHAPEL. 


172  Luicoln. 

tlie  Precentor,  the  chief  musical  ofl&cer,  that  to  the  left  ;  the  Chancellor,  the  theologian 
and  literary  official  of  the  Chapter,  who  in  old  times  wrote  the  letters  and  arranged 
the  preachings,  and  took  care  of  the  library,  is  seated  in  the  last  stall  of  the  southern 
range  to  the  east ;  the  Treasurer  was  originall}-  placed  in  a  corresponding  place  on  the 
north  side.  The  reason  of  the  dignitaries  being  so  placed  was  that  they  might  over- 
look every  part  of  the  choir  and  maintain  order  among  the  vicars  and  singing  boys, 
not  always  so  intent    on    their    sacred    functions  as  they  should  have    been. 

Each  stall  has  a  hinged  turn-up  wooden  seat,  with  a  projecting  bracket  on  the 
under  side,  known  in  old  times  as  misericords  or  misereres.  This  name  they  gained  from 
being  merciful  provisions  for  the  relief  of  wearied  human  nature,  offering  a  partial  support 
to  the  body  during  the  protracted  services  of  the  earlier  Church,  without  adopting  the 
irreverent  attitude — now,  alas,  too  common — of  sitting  in  pra3'er.  Those  who  used  them, 
however,  had  to  beware  lest  drowsiness  overtook  them.  If  the  body  was  thrown  too  far 
forward  the  seat  lost  its  equilibrium,  and  the  sleeper  was  in  danger  of  being  hurled 
down,  to    his    own    disgrace    and   the    derision    of  others. 

In  St.  Hugh's  choir  the  example  of  the  Cathedral  of  Canterbury — a  plan 
derived  from  Clugny — was  followed.  It  was  provided  with  a  second  pair  of  transepts, 
each  with  two  semicircular  chapels  on  the  east  side.  One  of  these,  that  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  by  the  cloister  door,  was  by  his  own  desire  the  original  burial-place  of 
St.  Hugh,  whose  patron  saint  the  Baptist  was.  The  last  directions  to  his  architect 
on  his  death-bed  were  for  the  construction  of  the  altar  in  this  chapel  and  its 
consecration.  "  I  shall  not  be  present  in  bod}-,"  he  said,  "  but  I  shall  be  there  in 
spirit."  "  Bury  me  there,"  he  continued,  "  where  I  have  so  often  loved  to  minister ; 
but  lay  me  b}-  the  side  of  the  wall,  where  people  will  not  be  in  danger  of  tripping 
over  my  tomb."  He  sought  not  to  be  a  stumbling-block  to  his  brethren  in  life,  and 
he  would  be  grieved  to  prove  a  stumbling-block  to  them  when  dead. 

The  humble  and  holy  Hugh  was  not  allowed  to  remain  long  in  the  lowly 
grave  he  had  chosen  for  himself.  Miraculous  cures,  according  to  the  belief  of  the 
age,  began  to  be  worked  at  his  tomb.  He  received  canonisation  from  the  Pope,  and 
it  was  decreed  that  he  must  have  another  resting-place.  So,  as  we  have  already  said, 
the  apse  he  had  erected  half  a  centurv  before  was  pulled  down,  the  cathedral  was 
lengthened  by  five  baA's,  and  on  its  completion  the  saint's  body  was  carried  in  stately 
procession  to  a  shrine  covered  with  plates  of  silver  gilt,  standing  behind  the  high 
altar,  in  the  middle  of  the  "Angel  Choir,"  that  exquisite  architectural  work,  the 
very    crown    and    glory    of  the    Decorated    st3'le. 

At  the  Reformation,  in  common  with  all  such  "  monuments  of  superstition," 
the  shrine  was  destroyed  by  the  command  of  Henr}'  VIII.,  the  gold  and  silver 
work  sharing  the  fate  of  the  before-mentioned  ornaments  of  the  church,  and  the 
bones    of    the    saint   were    interred   in    a   grave    hard    by.     "  His    body    is    buried    in 


Lincoln. 


173 


peace;    but    his    name    liveth    for   evermore."     Near  Hugh's  last  resting-place  rises  the 

lofty  canopied  monument  of  one  whose  name  will  go  down  to  posterity  as  one  of  the 

greatest    prelates    of    the    Church    of    England,    great    alike    in    learning,    piety,    and 

dauntless     courage,      the 

late    bishop    of    the     see, 

Christopher  Wordsworth. 

His  mitred  effigy  reposes 

upon      a      richly     carved 

altar-tomb. 

Much  that  Lincoln 
Minster  contains  of  histori- 
cal interest  and  architect- 
ural beauty  must  be  passed 
over  in  this  brief  sketch  ; 
but  we  cannot  omit  to 
mention  one  of  its  most 
instructive  memorials,  the 
shrine  of  little  St.  Hugh, 
in  the  south  choir  aisle. 
From  the  very  earliest 
ages  of  Christianity  down 
to  our  own  times  the 
horrible  charge — always, 
we  are  persuaded,  ground- 
less— has  been  brought 
against  the  Jews  of  tortur- 
ing and  murdering  Chris- 
tian children  in  mockery 
of  our  blessed  Lord's  suf- 
fering, and  has  been  made 
the  ground  of  cruel  perse- 
cution. "  Anti-Semitism," 
which  has  developed  so 
fiercely  in  late  years, 
especially    in    Russia,    is 

no  new  thing;  but,  however  contrary  to  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity,  it  is,  sad 
to  say,  almost  coeval  with  the  establishment  of  its  power  as  the  dominant  re- 
ligion. In  all  countries  the  same  hideous  tales  have  been  repeated  and  believed. 
In    our   own    land    the    so-called    martvrdoms    of   St.  William    of  Norwich,    St.    Harold 


BISHOP   W(-)RDSWURTirS   MONUMENT. 


174  Liiicoln. 

at  Gloucester,  St.  Robert  at  Edmundsbury,  and  others,  culminating  in  tbe  most 
famous  of  them  all,  that  which  has  taken  a  wide  place  in  our  ballad  literature,  and 
which    Chaucer  has    immortalised — ■ 

"Young  Hew  of  Lincolne  slaine  also 
With  cursed  Jewes,  as  it  is  notable, 
For  it   nis  but   a  litel  while  ago" — 

bear  witness  to  the  same  credulous  acceptance  of  unfounded  accusations  against 
members  of  a  hated  race,  whom  it  was  very  convenient  to  get  rid  of.  The  Jews, 
it  will  be  remembered,  were  the  great  money-lenders — indeed,  the  only  money-lenders — 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  to  get  your  creditor  hanged  and  his  account-books  burnt 
was    a   rough-and-ready    way  to   discharge   one's    liabilities. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  charge,  the  supposed  murder  of  little  St. 
Hugh,  a  boy  of  lyincoln,  and  the  consequent  execution  of  a  large  number  of  Jews 
and  the  confiscation  of  their  property,  as  accessories  to  the  crime,  in  1255,  are 
historical  events  which  cannot  be  questioned.  The  Dean  and  Chapter  begged  the 
bod}^  of  the  little  child,  and  gave  it  the  honour  of  a  richly  carved  shrine  and  an 
altar  in  the  minster,  beneath  which  the  tiny  skeleton  still  reposes.  His  martyrdom 
holds  its  place  in  the  Roman  Catholic  calendar.  Five-and-thirty  years  after  this 
Lincoln  persecution,  the  Jews,  as  a  body,  were  expelled  from  the  realm,  their  prop- 
erty was  confiscated,  and  any  Jew  found  in  England  after  All  Saints'  Day,  1290,  in- 
curred the  penalty  of  death  by  hanging.  How  powerfully  do  such  events  bring  to  our 
minds  the  old  word  of  prophecy! — "The  Lord  shall  scatter  thee  among  all  peoples 
.  .  .  and  among  those  nations  thou  shalt  have  no  ease,  neither  shall  the  sole  of 
thy  foot  find  any  rest  .  ,  and  thy  life  shall  hang  in  doubt  before  thee ;  and  thou 
shalt  fear  day  and  night,  and  shalt  have  none  assurance  of  thy  life."  "What  is 
your  strongest  argument  in  support  of  Christianity?"  scoffingly  asked  Frederick 
the    Great   of  one  of    his    chaplains.     "  Tlie  Jews,  sire,"  was   the   unanswerable    reply. 

One  is  tempted  to  linger  within  the  beautiful  ten-sided  Chapter-house,  with 
its  vaulted  roof  spreading  from  a  central  pillar,  to  dwell  on  the  great  historical 
memories  of  Edwardian  Parliaments,  to  conjure  tip  the  scene  of  the  trial  of  the 
much  maligned,  but  altogether  guiltless,  Kniglits  Templar,  or  that  of  the  "  Pil- 
grimage of  Grace,"  so  vividly  described  b}'  Fronde ;  but,  though  much  has  been 
left  unsaid,  we  must  bring  our  walk  to  an  end,  hoping  that  what  we  have  told  may 
induce    many    to   visit     Lincoln    for   themselves. 


DIGNITARIES. 


BISHOP   WORDSWORTH. 


CHRISTOPHER  ^¥ORDSWORTH,  D.  D. 

'"I'^HE  venerated  Dr.  Christopher  Wordsworth,  last  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  nephew  of  the 
I  poet  (born  1S07,  died  1885),  was  a  verj'  great  scholar  of  the  older  type,  becoming 
uncommon  in  this  day  of  natnral  science.  A  classical  scholar  first,  he  will  probably 
be  longest  remembered  for  his  commentary  on  the  Bible,  the  Greek  Testament 
appearing  Ijetween  1856-60,  and  the  Old  Testament  in  English,  with  notes  and 
introductions,  between  1S64-70.  In  this  he  takes  a  very  conservative  position,  and 
draws  his  comment  mainly  from  the  ancient  fathers  and  the  great  English  divines. 
He  played  a  prominent  part  in  controversial  theology,  was  a  leader  of  the  old- 
fashioned  High  Church  party,  and  was  equally  out  of  sj'mpath}^  with  Romanism 
and  Dissent.  In  1869  he  became  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  and  laboured  earnestly  for  the 
best  interests  of  his  Diocese.  His  idea  of  episcopal  duty  was  high,  but  it  has 
been  said  that  he  lacked  the  breadth  of  view  and  of  sympathy  necessary  to  make 
him  a  great  administrator.  Still  the  singleness  of  his  aims  and  his  real  nobility 
of  character  commanded  the  respect  of  all  men.  He  died  at  Lincoln,  March  20, 
18S5,  only    a    few    weeks    after    resigning    the    See. 

('77) 


EDWARD  KING,  D.  D. 

EDWARD  KING,  D.  D.  (boru  1S29),  the  present  saintly  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  came 
of  a  family  which,  by  inheritance,  was  irabned  with  the  responsibility  and  priestly 
significance  of  the  clergy.  Among  his  clerical  relations  were  his  father,  Arch- 
deacon of  Rochester,  and  his  grandfather.  Bishop  of  Rochester.  He  is  himself  a 
celibate.  He  was  from  1863-73  Principal  of  Cnddesden  College,  where,  at  the  same 
time  being  Canon  of  Christ  Cluirch,  Oxford,  and  Regins  Professor  of  Pastoral  Theology, 
he  exercised  a  wide  inflnence  throughont  the  university,  and,  no  doubt,  aided  largely 
in  bringing  about  the  reaction  from  extreme  secularism.  In  18S5  he  was  consecrated 
Bishop  of  Lincoln.  He  is  probably  the  most  advanced  Ritualist  upon  the  Episcopal 
Bench.  He  is,  however,  a  loyal  son  of  the  Church,  and  after  his  celebrated  trial 
for  non-conformity  to  the  rubric  in  some  features  of  his  service,  abstained  without 
hesitation  from  those  condemned  by  the  Archbishop. 

Furthermore,  the  position  taken  by  him  that  a  Bishop  should  not  be  subject  to 
the  jurisdiction  of  an  Archbishop,  but  to  the  authority  of  his  comprovincial  Bishops, 
is  sufficient  evidence  that  he  is  opposed  to  the  ideas  of  Romanism.  His  gentle,  earnest 
face,  his  kind  and  noble  character,  and  his  past  actions  are  enough  to  assure  those 
who  differ  with  him  as  to  Church  doctrine,  that  his  influence  upon  the  ritualists  will 
be  for  tolerance  and  loyalty  to  Anglicanism. 
(178) 


BISHOP   KING. 


WINCHESTER  CATHEDRAL. 


WINCHESTER. 


IN  the  fair  valley  of  the  Itchen, 
where  the  downs  on  either  hand 
draw  near  together,  has  stood 
from  prehistoric  days  a  little  town 
which  grew  to  be  Winchester,  one  of 
the  most  important  capital  cities  of 
England.  The  first  anthentic  records 
of  it  are  those  which  have  been  dug 
out  of  the  soil,  not  written  in  books. 
There  is  a  doubt  whether  the  Saxon 
cathedral  was  on  the  site  of  the  present 
building,  or  a  little  to  the  northward  of 
it ;  at  any  rate,  whatever  Saxon  work 
there  may  be  in  it  has  been  completely 
incorporated,  and  we  shall  not  go  far 
wrong  if  we  consider  that  the  existing 
church  was  begun  by  Bishop  Walkelyn 
in  1079.  The  magnificence  of  Norman 
skill  and  piet}'  may  still  be  understood 
b}^  any  one  who  will  make  careful 
study  of  the  two  transepts,  which  re- 
main almost  as  Walkelyn  left  them  in 
1093.  From  them  we  may  picture  the  glory  of  the  long  and  lofty  nave,  its  massive 
piers,  broad,  deep  triforium,  and  dignified  clerestory'.  The  original  tower,  however,  was 
not  destined  to  stand  long.  Soon  after  William  Rufus  was  buried  under  it,  in  iroo, 
whether  from  fault}'  construction,  or  uncertain  foundations  in  the  wet  ground,  or  from 
being  weakened  by  excavating  too  near  the  piers ;  or  whether,  as  the  resentfull}'  pious 
held,  from  the  cankering  wickedness  of  the  Red  King's  bones — from  whatever  cause — in 
1 107  the  tower  fell  in  with  a  mighty  crash   over  the  monarch's  tomb.     WalkeUm  had, 

(183) 


THK   DEANERY. 


184  Winclicstcr. 

however,  left   funds    to    the    church,  and   a   new    tower   was    carried   out   with    massive 
firmness. 

There  is  but  little  in  the  church  of  Decorated  or  Middle-Pointed  style ; 
four  bays  of  the  choir,  unrivaled  in  grace  and  richness  of  mouldings,  and  the 
tracery  of  one  or  two  windows,  are  all  that  Winchester  can  show  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  exuberant  period  of  English  architecture. 

Satiated  with  the  rich  ornamentation  and  variety  of  the  period,  men,  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  century,  turned  towards  a  harder  and  a  simpler  manner 
of  building,  a  severe  architectural  Puritanism.  They  trusted  for  effect  to  height 
and  repetition,  even  to  monotony,  and  to  the  upward  pointing  of  reiterated  vertical 
lines.  Winchester  Cathedral  was  the  first  to  feel  the  influence  of  this  change  of  taste. 
First,  Bishop  William  of  Edyndon,  then  the  more  famous  William  of  Wykeham,  attacked 
and  "  reformed  "  the  massive  and  noble  Norman  work.  Edyndon  began  at  the  west  end, 
altering  the  fa9ade  completely,  and  converting  to  modern  style  two  bays  on  the  north 
and  one  on  the  south.  Tlie  huge  west  window,  which  forms  the  main  feature  of  the 
fa9ade,  has  been  mercilessly  criticised  and  condemned  by  Mr.  Ruskin  in  his  "  Stones 
of  Venice"  (vol.  i.,  chap,  xvii.),  who  first  draws  a  caricature  of  the  window,  and  then 
condemns  his  own  creation. 

The  work  thus  set  in  hand  by  Edyndon  was  carried  through  by  W^illiam  of 
Wykeham,  who,  through  his  colleges,  has  imposed  the  unimaginative  Perpendicular 
style  on  England.  He  did  not  pull  down  the  ancient  Norman  nave,  but  encased  the 
columns  with  the  poor  mouldings  of  this  later  Gothic.  Bishop  Fox  built  up  the  east 
end  of  the  choir,  placing  on  the  central  pinnacle  a  life-like  statue  of  himself.  To  him 
also  is  due,  in  its  striking  height  and  exquisite  elaboration  of  detailed  canopy  work, 
the  great  reredos,  which  is  repeated,  with  less  happy  effect  of  proportion,  at  St.  Albans. 

Just  before,  and  in  his  day.  Priors  Hiinton  and  Silkstede  pushed  out  the  Lady 
Chapel  some  twenty-six  feet  in  the  later  Perpendicular  manner.  This  additional 
bay  of  the  Lady  Chapel,  with  its  stiff  ornament  and  half-obliterated  frescoes,  made 
this  church  the  longest  cathedral  in  England. 

With  the  death  of  Bishop  Fox  in  15 28,  the  structural  changes  in  the  fabric 
came  almost  to  an  end.  Later  additions  or  alterations  were  but  small ;  such  as  the 
closing  of  the  fine  Norman  lantern  of  the  tower  with  a  wooden  groining,  erected 
under  the  eyes  of  Charles  I.,  as  we  see  by  the  bosses  and  ornaments  ;  there  is  the 
royal  monogram  in  many  forms,  and  royal  badges,  and  the  initials  of  the  King 
and  Queen,  C.  M.  R.  (Carolus,  Maria,  R.),  and  a  large  circular  medallion  displaying  in 
profile  the  royal  pair  themselves ;  in  the  centre  is  an  inscription  giving  us  the  date 
of  this  work^  1634.  The  library,  a  lean-to  along  the  end  of  the  south  transept, 
was  built  to  hold  Bishop  Morley's  books  after  his  death  in  1684 ;  and  the  porch 
at  the  west  end  was  restored  iu  the  present  century. 


THE  GREAT  SCREEN. 


//  'inrhcsier. 


187 


Within  the  walls  the  most  striking  object  of  interest  is  undoubtedly  the  famous 
Norman  font  of  black  basaltic  stone,  which  was  probably  placed  in  the  church  in  the 
days  of  Walkelyn ;  it  portrays  in  bold  if  rude  relief  the  life  and  miracles  of  St. 
Nicolas  of  Myra.  Next  after  the  font  may  perhaps  be  noted  the  fine  carved  spandrels, 
fourteenth-century  work,  of  the  choir-stalls,  with  the  quaint  misereres  of  the  seats ;  then 
Prior  Silkstede's  richly  carved  pulpit  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  the  very  interesting 
and  valuable  Renaissance  panels  of  the  pews,  put  in  by  William  Kingsmill,  last  prior 
and  first  dean,  in  1540. 
The  chantries  and 
tombs  in  this  church  are 
of  unusual  beauty  and 
interest.  Three  founders 
of  colleges  at  Oxford  lie 
buried  here  :  Wykeham, 
of  New  College  and  St. 
Mary's  Winton;  Wayne- 
flete,  of  Magdalen  Col- 
lege; and  Fox,  of  Corpus 
Christi  College.  William 
of  Wykehara  lies  buried 
in  the  nave,  between  two 
of  the  great  piers  ;  the 
altar  in  his  chantry  has 
been  removed,  as  have 
also  the  statues ;  other- 
wise his  alabaster  effigy 
and  the  stonework  of 
the  canopies  remain  un- 
injured ;  and  the  great 
bishop's  serene  counte- 
nance, with  the  three 
characteristic  little  Benedictines  at  his  feet,  has  been  handed  down  to  us  in  life-like 
truthfulness.  In  the  retro-choir,  on  the  north  side,  is  William  of  Wajmeflete's  splendid 
chantry ;  and  by  the  side  of  what  was  the  high  altar,  until  he  himself  removed  it,  is 
the  tomb  of  Bishop  Fox,  a  very  elaborate  example  of  Late  Perpendicular  work.  No 
effigy  of  the  bishop  is  here  ;  he  built  the  tomb  himself,  and  perhaps  thought  it  enough 
to  be  seen  on  the  pinnacle  outside  or  in  the  great  east  window ;  there  is  a  richly 
ornamented  altar  and  reredos,  and  behind  it  a  little  chamber,  still  called  his  stud}', 
because  in  his  old  age,  when  blind,  the  good  bishop  was  daily  led  thither  to  sit  and 


CHANTRIES   IN   THE  SOUTH   AISLE  OF  THE  CHOIR. 


i88 


//  'utclicstcr. 


rest  and  pray.  Ou  the  outside  of  this  chantry,  and  of  that  of  Bishop  Gardiner 
over  against  it,  are  placed  two  ghastly  nicnicnlo  iiiori  figures,  such  as  are  not  unusual 
on  the  monuments  of  foreign  prelates,  evidences  of  that  morbid  feeling  about  death 
which  pervaded  the  period  just  before  the  Reformation,  and  made  men  depict  on 
so  many  walls  these  emblems  of  corruption  or  the  corresponding  and  still  more  ghastly- 
humourous  dances  of  Death. 

In  no  English  church,  except  Westminster  Abbey  and  St.  Paul's,  lie  so  many 
men  of  name.  For  just  as  the  features  of  the  cathedral  represent  all  the  successive 
phases    and    changes    of  the    art   of  building,  until    it    has    been    styled    a    "  School   of 


THE   CLOSE    GATEWAY. 


English  Architecture,"  so  it  ma}'  be  said  to  be  the  home  and  centre  of  our  early 
history.  Long  is  the  roll  of  kings  and  statesmen  who  came  hither,  and  whose  bones 
here  lie  at  rest.  Cynegils  and  Cenwalh,  West-Saxon  kings,  founders  of  the  church, 
are  here ;  Egbert  was  buried  here  in  S38  ;  Ethelwulf  also,  and  Edward  the  Elder,  and 
Edred.  The  body  of  Alfred  the  Great  la}'  awhile  in  the  church,  then  was  transferred 
to  the  new  minster  he  had  built,  and  finally  rested  at  Hyde  Abbey.  And  most  splendid 
name  of  all,  the  great  Cnut  was  buried  here;  as  was  also  his  son  Harthacnut,  as 
bad  and  mean  as  his  father  was  great.  The  roll  of  kings  was  closed  when  Red 
William's  blood-dripping  corpse  came  jolting  hither  in  the  country  cart  from  the  New 
Forest.     Here  also  lie  Emma,  Lady  of  the  English,  whom   her  mean  son,  Edward  the 


n  'iiiclicster. 


189 


Confessor,  treated  so  ill ;  and  Richard,  the  Conqueror's  second  son,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  of  Englishmen,  Earl  Godwin,  and  his  nephew,  Dnke  Beorn.  Of  churchmen 
there  is  also  good  store.  Besides  the  prelates  mentioned  above,  St.  Birinus  and  St. 
Swithuu,  and  Archbishop  Stigand,  and  ^-Ethelwold,  parent  of  the  Benedictine  priory, 
Walkelj'n,  the  master-builder,  and  the  saintly  Giffard,  lie  here ;  also  Henry  of  Blois, 
King  Stephen's  brother,  first  founder  of  the  Hospital  of  St.  Cross  ;  Peter  des  Roches 
also,  guardian  of  the  realm  in  the  youth  of  Henry  HI.  ;  and  Edyndon,  builder  of  the 
western  front,  and  in  later  da3's  Peter  Mews,  and  Morley,  and  Hoadley,  with  many 
another  of  lesser  fame. 
There  are  but  few  men 
of  letters  here :  in  a 
chapel  in  the  south  tran- 
sept Izaak  Walton  is 
buried  ;  and  in  the  north 
aisle  of  the  nave  lies 
the  well-known  novelist. 
Miss  Austen.  Near  the 
west  end  of  the  church 
is  Flaxman's  striking 
monument  to  Joseph 
Warton,  the  critic,  and 
head  of  Winchester  Col- 
lege. There  is  hard  b}^ 
another  specimen  of 
Flaxman's  work  in  a 
graceful  group  on  the 
monument  to  Mrs.  North, 
the  bishop's  wife.  Bishop 
North  himself  kneels  in 
effigy  (one  of  Chantre3''s 
masterpieces)       at      the 

other  end  of  the  church,  against  the  east  wall  of  the  Lady  Chapel.  And  finalh-,  in  the 
south  transept  stands  Scott's  elaborate  memorial  to  the  late  Bishop  Wilberforce,  ill-placed 
among  the  surroundings  of  the  massive  Norman  work. 

In  this  great  church  many  stirring  scenes  of  English  history  have  been  enacted. 
The  early  kings  made  Winchester  their  home  and  the  cathedral  their  chapel.  Here 
it  was  that  Egbert,  after  being  crowned  ///  rcgcm  totins  Brittanicc^  with  assent  of  all 
parties,  issued  an  edict  in  S2S  ordering  that  the  island  should  thereafter  be  always 
styled  England,  and  its  people  Englishmen.      Here  King  Alfred  was  crowned  and  lived 


RUINS   OF  THli    CLUISTEKS. 


I  go  Winchester. 

and  died.  Here  in  1035  Cnut's  body  lay  in  state  before  the  liigh  altar,  over  which  was 
hung  thenceforth  for  many  a  year,  most  precious  of  relics,  the  great  Norseman's  crown. 
Here  William  the  Conqueror  often  came,  and  wore  his  crown  at  the  Easter  Gemot ;  here, 
too,  clustered  many  of  the  national  legends :  St.  Swithun  here  did  his  mighty  works,  and 
here  were  the  forty  dismal  days  of  rain ;  hard  by  is  the  scene  of  the  great  fight  between 
Colbrand  the  Dane  and  Guy  of  Warwick ;  in  the  nave  of  the  church  Queen  Emma  trod 
triumphant  on  the  red-hot  ploughshares  as  on  a  bed  of  roses  ;  hither  came  Earl  Godwin's 
body  after  his  marvelous  and  terrible  death,  one  of  the  well-known  group  of  malignant 
Norman  tales.  It  was  in  Winchester  Cathedral  that  Henry  Beauclerk  took  to  wife 
his  queen,  Matilda,  to  the  great  joy  of  all  English-speaking  folk.  Here  Stephen  of 
Blois  was  crowned  King ;  and  here,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Empress  Maud  was  welcomed 
by  city  and  people  with  high  rejoicings ;  here,  too,  was  drawn  up  and  issued  the  final 
compact,  in  1153,  which  closed  the  civil  war  of  that  weary  reign,  and  secured  the 
crown  to  the  young  Prince  Henry.  ,  He  in  his  turn  often  sojourned  in  Winchester,  and 
befriended,  in  his  strong  wa}'^,  the  growing  city.  The  cathedral  witnessed  another 
compact  in  the  dark  days  of  King  John :  the  King  was  here  reconciled  to  the  English 
Church  in  the  person  of  Stephen  Langton ;  Henry  HI.  and  his  queen,  Eleanor,  were 
here  in  1242  ;  and  on  May-day  of  that  year  "  came  the  Queen  into  the  chapter-house 
to  receive  society."  In  1275  Edward  I.,  with  his  queen,  were  welcomed  with  great 
honour  by  the  prior  and  brethren  of  St.  Swithun,  and  attended  service  in  the  church. 
The  christening  of  Arthur,  Prince  of  Wales,  elder  brother  of  Henry  VIII.,  was  here; 
and  here  Henry  VIII.  met  his  astute  rival,  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  It  was  in 
Winchester  Cathedral  that  the  marriage  of  Philip  and  Mar}'^  took  place,  and  the  chair  in 
which  she  sat  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  church.  The  Stuart  kings  loved  the  place. 
Here  in  the  great  rebellion  was  enacted  that  strange  scene  when,  after  the  capture 
of  the  city,  the  mob  rushed  into  the  cathedral,  wild  for  booty  and  mischief,  and 
finding  in  the  chests  nothing  but  bones,  amused  themselves  b}'  throwing  them  at 
the  stained  windows  of  the  choir.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Colonel  Nathaniel  Fiennes, 
a  Parliamentary  officer  and  an  old  Wykehamist,  stood  with  drawn  sword  at  the  door  of 
Wykeham's  chantry,  to  protect  it  from  violence.  Since  the  da3's  of  the  INIerry  Monarch, 
who  was  often  at  Winchester,  and  loved  it  so  well  that  he  built  his  palace  here,  no 
striking  historical  events  have  been  enacted  within  its  walls.  The  church  by  degrees 
recovered  from  the  ruin  of  the  Commonwealth  time,  and  has  had  a  quiet,  happy  life 
from  that  time  onward,  a  tranquil  gray  building,  sleeping  amidst  its  trees,  in  the  heart 
of  the  most  charming  of  all  South  English  cities. 


DIGNITARIES. 


BISHOP   WILBERFORCE. 


SAMUEL  WILBERFORCE,  D.  D. 

How  can  one  possibly  compress  within  a  few  lines  of  print  tlie  varied  career  of 
the  manj'-sided,  energetic,  eloquent  Samuel  of  Oxford,  a  great  pulpit  and  par- 
liamentary orator,  a  great  bishop,  a  wit,  a  scholar,  and  a  man  of  the  world. 
His  friend,  Dean  Bnrgon,  well  calls  him  "  the  remodeler  of  the  Episcopate."  Son  of 
the  celebrated  William  Wilberforce,  he  early  reached  distinction,  and  became  Bishop 
of  Oxford  in  1845.  In  that  position  he  was  for  twenty-four  years  the  most  prominent 
figure  in  the  English  Church.  The  popular  notion  of  a  bishop's  office  before  his 
time  was  connected,  above  all  things,  with  the  ideas  of  dignified  leisure  and  serene 
isolation.  On  the  contrary',  since  his  appointment  to  the  See  of  Oxford,  it  has  been 
identified  with  nothing  so  much  as  incessant  labour,  ubiquitous  exertion,  and  the 
utmost  publicity.  He  left  upon  the  whole  English  Episcopate  the  abiding  impress 
of  his  own  earnest  spirit  and  extraordinary  genius.  One  secret  of  his  success  was 
his  power  of  sympathy.  He  was  large-hearted,  liberal,  and  generous  to  a  fault  in  his 
treatment  of  his  clergy- ;  prepared  to  throw  himself,  heart  and  soul,  into  any  project 
which  seemed  capable  of  being  successfully  worked,  and  which  had  good  for  its  ob- 
ject.     In   1S69  he  was    translated    to    the    See  of  Winchester,  and   July    19,   1S73,  was 

suddenly   killed  b}'  a  fall   from  his  horse. 

{193) 

'3 


ANTHONY  WILSON  THOROLD,  D.  D. 

THE  present,  and  ninety-eiglith  Bishop,  the  Right  Rev.  Anthony  Wilson  Thorold, 
D.  D.,  (born  Jnne  13,  1825,)  comes  of  old  Saxon  stock.  He  was  rector  of  London 
parishes  some  thirteen  years,  then  Canon  of  York,  and  an  examining  chaplain  to  the 
Archbishop,  and  in  1S77  Bishop  of  Rochester.  In  1891  he  was  translated  to  Win- 
chester. His  face  might  be  thonght  sombre,  bnt  it  brightens  with  fire  and  feeling. 
His  style  in  writing  is  apt  and  strong,  and  he  is  the  author  of  several  very  pop- 
ular devotional  works,  "  The  Presence  of  Christ "  and  "  The  Gospel  of  Christ," 
having  run  through  several  editions. 

The  great  responsibility  he  felt  in  the  management  of  the  enormous  Diocese 
of  South  London  was  as  much  as  his  health  could  stand,  and  the  hopelessness  of  the 
task  is  evidenced  by  his  review  on  a  report  in  the  "Record"  on  the  spiritual  con- 
dition of  the  masses  in  that  neighbourhood.  He  ends  by  saying:  "To  you  I  be- 
queath (in  my  heart  it  is  hidden,  heavy,  sorrowful,  abasing,  stinging  with  its  fire), 
cue  sentence  of  this  report  which  we  can  not  forget,  because  it  is  so  terrible,  which 
we  must  not  destroy,  because  it  is  so  true — '  Christianity  is  not  in  possession  in  South 
London.' "  He  made  frequent  trips  across  the  United  States. 
(194) 


BISHOP  THUROLU. 


SALISBURY  CATHEDRAL. 


^m& 


'f%Zi,. 


SALISBURY. 


1"^HE  last  time  that  Pugin  was  in  Salisbur}^  he  stood  at  the  window  of  a  house 
overlooking    the    cathedral     and    exclaimed,     "Well,     I     have    traveled    all    over 

Europe  in  search  of  architecture,  but  I  have  seen  nothing  like  this."  There 
is  ample  justification  for  such  a  verdict.  The  structure  itself  is  vast;  the  clear  space 
around  is  probably  without  a  parallel ;  the  spire  is  exceptional  both  for  its  elegance 
and  its  height ;  the  colour  is  determined  by  the  same  lichen  that  has  grown  through 
the  same  generations  over  the  entire  mass,  and  in  those  gray  walls  rising  out  of  the 
greensward,  the  impression  undoubtedly  is  conve3-ed  that  there  are  points  in  which 
Salisbury   Cathedral   stands   without  a   rival   in   the  world. 

There  is  one  characteristic  about  its  architecture  which  it  shares  with  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral  alone  amongst  English  cathedrals — that  it  was  built  all  at  one  period.  It 
is  therefore  no  museum  of  English  architecture,  as  so  many  similar  churches  are,  in 
which  we  can  study  the  movements  of  the  art  in  their  several  periods.  It  is  from 
end  to  end  the  monument  of  one  single  epoch,  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury— it  was  begun  in  the  year  1220 — built,  as  seems  probable,  not  altogether  apart 
from  French  influence,  yet  in  its  severity,  its  reserve,  its  stern  disdain  of  ornament, 
thoroughly  English  in  its  spirit,  being  indeed  the  completest  survival  in  this  country 
of  what  has  been  often  thought  the  best  and  purest  period  of  English  art. 

The  lofty  spire,  upon  which  the  repute  of  Salisbur}'  Cathedral  is  popularly 
rested,  seems  to  have  been  no  part  of  the  original  design.  The  lantern  was  at  first 
completed  a  little  above  the  roof  of  the  nave.  The  piers  and  foundations  below  were 
never  intended  to  carry  so  vast  a  weight ;  and  it  was  not  probably  till  a  generation 
or  two  had  elapsed  that  some  unknown  architect,  with  the  daring  of  a  true  artist 
in  exhausting  the  capability  of  his  material,  planned  the  tower  and  spire,  which 
have  since  been  recognized  as  amongst  the  chief  glories  of   the  pile. 

This  cathedral  is  peculiarly  rich  in  the  survival  of  consecration  crosses,  which 
in  mediaeval  daj^s  were  carved  or  painted  on  the  walls  of  a  church.  The}'  are  to  be 
seen  both  outside  and  inside  the  building.  Those  on  the  inside  were  twelve  in 
number,   three   on   each  wall,   to  the  north,  south,  east,  and   west.     It  seems  probable, 

(199) 


200 


Salisbniy. 


but  not  perhaps  quite  certain,  that  the  number  of  external  crosses  was  the  same. 
The  whole  ritual  of  the  consecration  is  extremely  curious,  and  is  described  by 
Durandus,  a  French  bishop  who  was  nearly  contemporary  with  the  building  of  Salis- 
bury Cathedral.  The  deacon  was  shut  up  alone  in  the  church,  and  his  business 
was  to  light  twelve  lamps  before  the  twelve  crosses  painted  on  the  walls.  Meantime 
the  bishop,  clergy,  and  people  outside  thrice  made  the  circuit  of  the  building,  the 
bishop  sprinkling  the  walls  with  water  which  he  had  previously  blessed.  On  their 
entering  the  church,  a  cross  in  ashes  and  sand  was  made  upon  the  pavement,  and 
upon    the  cross    the    entire    alphabet    was    written    in    Greek    and    Latin    characters. 


THE   CLOISTKK.   GARTH. 

The   bishop  then    made    the    tour   of    the    interior    and    anointed    the    twelve    painted 
crosses  with  the  sacred  chrism. 

The  artistic  effect  of  the  inierior  is  not  at  all  equal  to  that  of  the  exterior  of 
the  church ;  and  the  question  arises  as  to  what  is  the  particular  respect  in  which  its 
builders  failed  ?  why  is  it  that  they  who  were  so  great  and  strong  outside  have 
become  so  feeble  aud  so  poor  within  ?  It  is  perhaps  open  to  doubt  whether  it  is 
the  originators  who  failed  at  all.  Here  are  at  all  events  many  of  the  same  fine 
qualities  within  that  won  our  admiration  without.  Here,  as  on  the  exterior,  there 
are   size,  elegance,  symmetry,  just  proportions,  modesty  of  treatment,  aud  many  other 


Salisbury.  2or 

such  attributes.  Yet,  judged  by  its  own  high  standard,  it  fails.  The  hite  Poet- 
Laureate  is  understood  to  have  framed  the  criticism  tliat  it  is  deficient  in  mystery. 
This  result  is  no  doubt  in  a  great  measure  due  to  colour,  or  more  strictly  speaking 
to  the  absence  of  right  colour.  Outside  the  building  Nature  has  done  the  exquisite 
colouring  with  her  mantle  of  lichen  ;  internally  the  present  colour-effect  is  due  to 
successive  generations  of  men,  of  whom  some  have  misunderstood  and  some  have 
even  derided  the  power  of  colour.  As  the  cathedral  has  been  seen  for  the  last  hun- 
dred years,  and  probably  for  much  longer,  the  whole  effect  is  too  light.  Until  the 
restoration  of  the  past  ten  years,  when  its  marble  shafts  have  once  again  begun  to 
gleam  with  their  dark  polish,  and  the  vaulting  of  the  roof  has  been  robed  in  modern 
polychrome,  the  dominant  effect  was  universally,  as  indeed  it  still  is  in  part,  that 
produced  by  a  kind  of  buff  wash.  But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  we  have  au}-  idea 
of  the  splendour  of  this  interior  as  its  originators  meant  it  to  look.  Then,  no  doubt 
every  pillar  in  the  structure,  being  of  marble,  helped  by  its  dark  rich  burnish  to 
remove  that  pale  monotony  which  we  ha\'e  found  so  painful  ;  then,  arch  and  wall  and 
groining  were  from  end  to  end  aflame  with  vermilion  in  arabesque  and  saint  and 
angel ;  then,  every  window — and  the  wall  of  this  cathedral  is  nearly  all  windows — 
must  have  flashed  its  jewels  on  the  floor.  It  must  have  been  a  magnificent  interior 
then.  The  giant-artists  of  the  exterior  were  not  so  feeble  directh'  they  got  within 
the  porch. 

The  colour-system  of  the  cathedral  has  been  terribl}'  misunderstood — the 
modern  arabesques,  for  example,  are  painted  upon  a  white  ground ;  the  old  ones 
may  still  be  seen  to  have  been  painted  xipon  a  deep  colouring,  making  a  vast  differ- 
ence in  the  solemnity  of  the  aggregate  effect — but  the  S3'stem,  whatever  it  was,  was 
not  confined  to  the  inside,  but  reaches  even  to  the  exterior  of  the  church.  On 
the  west  portal  there  is  an  example  of  what  is  ver}-  rare  in  this  climate — colour 
on  the  exterior  of  a  building.  Within  living  memor}'  that  door  was  known  as  the 
"  Blue  Door."  The  "  restoration "  by  Wyatt  in  the  last  century  removed  much  of 
the  colour,  and  the  recent  work  has  removed  still  more ;  but  some  slight  traces  of 
the  blue  may  still  be  discerned.  The  same  is  true  of  the  arcading  in  the  cloisters, 
where  there  is  still  sufficient  evidence  before  the  seeing  eye  for  the  presumption 
that    their    wall-spaces    were    once    covered    with    cartoons   in    colour. 

One  difficulty  always  strikes  the  eye  of  the  intelligent  spectator  about  the 
inside  of  Salisbury  Cathedral.  There  seems  to  be  no  kind  of  an  elevation  where 
the  high  altar  could  have  been  placed.  The  floor  seems  perfectly  flat.  The  difficulty 
is  removed  hy  a  reference  to  some  of  the  French  churches.  The  altar  probablj- 
stood  not  as  we  see  it — at  the  end  of  everything — but  on  a  dais  of  its  own,  covered 
probably  with  a  gorgeous  canopy,  rich  in  sculpture  and  metal-work,  with  its  superb 
corona,    as    we    actually    know,    suspended   before   it,   and   girt   with   every   circumstance 


202 


Salisbury. 


of  splendour.  The  ritual  of  Sarura  demanded  that  it  should  stand  free  of  any  wall ; 
and  its  probable  position  was  at  the  intersection  of  the  lesser  transept  with  the 
choir,  where  the  decoration  overhead  of  all  three  arms  of  the  fabric,  in  front  of 
it,    leads    up   to    the    figure    of    Our   Lord    in    Majesty. 

The  internal  arrangement  of  Salisbury  may  serve  to  correct  a  popular  mistake 
whereby  an  expression  about  "  the  old  monks "  is  so  often  hazarded  in  connection 
with  any  and  every  cathedral.  There  were  no  monks  at  Salisbury ;  and  the  choir 
stalls  all  placed  east  of  the  transept  may  serve  to  remind  us  of  it.  The  law  is 
correctly    laid   down   b}'    the    eminent    French    writer   Viollet-le-Duc,  that   non-monastic 


THE  CI.OISTERS. 

churches  had  their  choir-stalls  east  of  the  transept,  while  monastic  churches  had 
theirs  to  the  west,  in  the  nave,  or  across  the  transept.  The  arrangement  at  West- 
minster   compared    with    that    of  Salisbury    is    an    example  of  this. 

A  very  singular  feature  in  the  internal  structure  is  the  plinth,  carried  all  round 
the  church,  upon  which  the  great  shafts  of  the  arcade  rest.  Most  probably  it  was  intended 
for  a  seat ;  and  in  the  early  days  it  was  perhaps  the  only  sitting  accommodation  provided 
in  the  nave.  The  sermons  of  those  days,  preached  in  the  nave,  were  certainly  not  less 
lengthy  than  those  of  our  own  time ;  but  the  bulk  of  the  hearers  must  either  have  stood 
or  have  rested  the  arms  and  chin  upon  the  crutch-shaped  leaning-staff  (reclinatorium), 
which  was  the  precursor  of  the  more  comfortable  arrangements  of  modern  times. 


Salisbmy. 


205 


From  an  artistic  point  of  view  there  are  two  or  three  tombs  of  exceptional 
interest  at  Salisbury.  First,  there  is  the  thirteenth-centur}'  tomb  of  Bishop  Brid- 
port,  which  has  been  seriously  mutilated  by  the  iconoclastic  zeal  of  the  past,  but 
which  is  still  perfect  enough  to  exhibit  to  us  the  British  architect  of  that  day,  in 
his  efforts  to  throw  off  the  grim  severity  of  treatment  which  marks  the  earliest 
beginnings  of  the  cathedral.  This  monument  has  been  copied  for  the  Cr3-stal  Palace. 
The  tomb  with  recumbent  effigy  of  Longspee,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  is  valuable  as  a 
specimen  of  monumental  art  partly  in  wood.  Originally  it  was  ablaze  with  colour, 
which  can  still  be  traced  in  some  profusion.  Indeed,  the  whole  series  of  tombs, 
which    in    the    last    century    were    arranged    down    the   nave,    serves    to    show    that    for 


THE    CHAPTER-HOUSE. 

many    generations    the    old    English    artists    coloured    everything.       Here    it    may     still 
be    seen    that    they    painted    even    their    alabaster. 

Amongst  the  curiosities  of  monumental  art  are  two  recumbent  figures  repre- 
sented as  skeletons.  Until  the  recent  restoration,  only  one  of  these  tombs  was 
exposed  to  view,  and  it  was  popularly  believed  to  be  the  monument  of  one  who 
had  reduced  himself  to  a  state  of  emaciation  by  excessive  fasting.  This  view  received 
a  severe  shock  when  the  removal  of  the  old  fittings  of  the  choir  disclosed  a  second 
tomb  of  a  similar  character.  Such  monuments  exist,  moreover,  in  other  churches ; 
and  they  belong  in  fact  to  a  period  when  it  was  the  fashion  to  represent  the 
mortality    of  man    in    this    ghastly    form. 


2o6 


Sa/isbmy. 


Another  curiosity  is  found  in  tlie  recumbent  figure  of  the  so-called  "  Boy- 
Bishop."  It  was  the  custom  of  the  mediaeval  Church  for  a  few  days  after  the 
children's  festival  of  St.  Nicholas,  in  December,  to  allow  a  parody  of  ecclesiastical 
pomp    on  the   part  of  the    children,  one  of  the    number  being   actually  invested  with 

the  mock  dignity  of  the  bishop.     The 


m.M^\ 


\^'^M^^V^  ^^M 


stor}^  went  that  one  such  boy  died 
during  his  term  of  office,  and  that 
this  was  his  tomb.  In  this  case 
likewise  the  popular  story  has  been 
exploded  by  comparative  science. 
Similar  monuments  in  miniature 
are  found  elsewhere ;  and  two  ex- 
planations of  them  are  possible. 
Either  there  was  a  fashion  at  one 
period  of  constructing  monuments 
of  diminutive  size,  as  there  was  at 
other  periods  of  aiming  at  colossal 
size ;  or,  what  is  more  probable,  the 
small  stone  was  made  to  cover  the 
relics  of  some  eminent  person  when 
only  little  of  them  could  be  recovered. 
What  if,  in  the  present  instance,  the 
eminent  person  was  no  less  a  figure 
than  St.  Osmund  himself — the  nephew 
of  William  the  Conqueror,  the  founder 
of  the  see,  and  in  his  use  of  Sarum, 
the  father  of  the  worship  of  the  whole  English  Church  ?  His  relics — what  little  had 
survived  of  them — were  certainly  collected  at  the  time  of  his  canonisation  in  1457, 
when  there  was  a  great  festival  at  Salisbury,  and  when  no  fewer  than  forty  thousand 
persons  came  to  pass  in  front  of  his  shrine.  There  is  no  trace  of  any  cover  for  so 
eminent  a  treasure  either  recorded  or  surviving  in  Salisbury  Cathedral  unless  it 
be   this   unexplained   stone.- 


'"jfacoh  ii'reitlln£:  zvitlt  tht-  Angt-t." 

SEDALIA   IN   THE   CHAPTER-HOUSE. 


CHESTER  CATHEDRAL, 


MOSAICS. 


CHESTER. 


THE  present  Cathedral  of  Chester  was  not  the  earliest  episcopal  chnrch  of  the 
diocese  which  now  bears  this  name.  If  we  tnrn  to  the  periods  which  imme- 
diately preceded  and  followed  the  Norman  Conquest,  we  find  Chester,  Lichfield, 
and  Coventry  co-ordinated  as  sister  cathedral  cities,  the  bishop's  title  being  taken 
indifferently  from  an}'  one  of  them.  This  is  the  reason  why  three  mitres  appear  in 
the  arms  of  the  See  of  Chester. 

The  kingdom  of  Mercia  was  then  one  vast  diocese,  which  extended  far  over 
the  north-west  of  England,  including  even  part  of  Wales,  and  reaching  to  the  edge 
of  the  territory  of  the  Bishops  of  Durham.  It  is  the  more  important  to  name  this 
historical  fact,  because  then  the  Chester  Cathedral  of  this  unwieldy  diocese  ^\■as  the 
fine  Norman  Church  of  vSt.  John  the  Baptist,  where  a  great  calamity,  in  the  fall  of  a 
magnificent  tower,  has  recently  deprived  the  city  of  Chester  of  one  of  its  most 
dignified  and  characteristic   features. 

The  history  of  this  diocese  has  been,  to  a  most  remarkable  degree,  a  history 
of  successive  subdivisions.  The  first  important  change  of  this  kind  was  the  creation 
by  King  Henry  VIII.  of  a  separate  See  of  Chester,  the  abbey  church  of  the  great 
Benedictine  house  of  St.  Werburgh  being  assigned  as  the  cathedral  church  to  the  new 
diocese,  which  was  made  part  of   the  Northern  Province.     This    new    diocese,   however, 


14 


(209) 


210 


Chester. 


though  separated  off  from  Shropshire,  Staffordshire,  and  Derbyshire,  was  still 
enormous ;  for  besides  Cheshire  it  included  the  whole  of  Lancashire  and  Westmore- 
land, with  parts  of  Denbighshire,  Flintshire,  and  parts  of  Cumberland  and  Yorkshire. 
Recent  changes,  indeed,  of  the  most  imperative  and  advantageous  kind  have  been 
made.  It  was  over  this  vast  area,  however,  that  even  Bishop  Blomfield  was  the 
ecclesiastical  ruler ;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  we  are  thinking  here  not  merely 
of  a  large  extent  of  country,  but  of  a  population  rapidly  growing  and  full  of  energy. 
The  first  of  the  recent  subdivisions  was  the  result  of  the  creation  of  tlie  See  of 
Ripon  in  1836,  the  second  resulted  from   that  of  the  See  of  Manchester   in    1S47,  the 


CHESTER   CATHEDRAL— NORTH   SIDE. 

third  from  that  of  the  See  of  Liverpool  in   1880.     Now  the  diocese  is  simply  coincident 
with  the  county  of  Chester,  which  has  a  proud  and  well-defined  history  of  its  own. 

If  we  begin  now  with  the  church  of  the  time  of  King  Henry  L,  its  Norman 
architecture  is  not,  indeed,  at  first  sight  very  obtrusive ;  yet,  when  closely  examined,  it  is 
quite  sufficient  to  lead  us  to  some  important  conclusions,  and  these  conclusions  have 
been  largely  aided  by  discoveries  made  during  the  work  of  recent  restoration.  The 
Norman  arches  on  the  exterior  of  the  northern  w^all  of  the  nave,  and  the  unfinished 
Norman  tower  (destined  now  for  a  baptistery,  for  which  the  preparations  are  already 
in  progress),  show  that  the  length  of  the  nave  during  the  time  of  the    early  Plantag- 


Chester. 


211 


enet  kings  was  the  same  as  at  present.  The  size  and  the  form  of  the  small  north 
transept  remain  as  they  were  at  this  period.  It  has  been  ascertained  that  the  piers 
of  the  choir  were  then,  in  their  massive  rotundity,  like  the  piers  of  St.  John's  Church. 
The  lines  of  curvature  of  the  apsidal  terminations  on  the  east  have  been  discovered, 
and  special  mention  must  be  made  of  the  recently  disinterred  and  restored  Norman 
crypt,  which  is  on  the  west  side  of  the  cloister,  and  is  now  one  of  the  best  surviving 
specimens  of  Norman  architecture  in  this  part  of  England. 

The  reign  of   King  Edward   I.   may    be    taken   as  our   next   historical   landmark 
for  architectural   description.     Before   his  visit   to   Chester  the   Lady    Chapel    was    built 


CHESTER   CATHEnRAI.— WEST   END. 

on  the  east  of  the  choir,  and  the  architects  whom  he  aided  were  probably  engaged 
upon  the  choir  and  its  aisles  at  the  time  when  he  was  here.  As  to  the  former  portion 
of  the  cathedral  buildings,  great  ingenuity  was  shown  by  Sir  Gilbert  Scott  in  discov- 
ering the  correct  form  of  the  buttresses,  whereby  he  was  enabled  at  this  place  to  effect 
a  forcible  and  truthful  restoration.  As  regards  the  latter,  the  attention  of  all  who 
walk  on  that  part  of  the  city  wall,  which  is  on  the  east  of  the  cathedral,  must  be 
arrested  by  a  singular  cone  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  south  aisle  of  the  choir. 
This  also  is  a  recover)'  of  the  past,  and  it  is  the  result  of  a  shrewd  observation  of 
facts  by  Mr.  Frater,  who  was  clerk  of  the  works  from  1868  to  1876.  The  evidence 
ou  which  the  rebuilding  of  this  cone  is  justified  was  quite  certain.     There    seems    no 


212  Chester. 

doubt  that  it  was  the  result  of  some  fancy  of  a  monk  or  architect  from  Normandy ; 
and  at  Norrey,  near  Caen,  ma}'  be  seen  a  structural  peculiarity  of  exactly  the  same 
kind.  In  each  of  these  instances  the  obliteration  of  ancient  features,  the  happy 
recovery  of  which  has  now  been  found  possible,  was  chiefly  due  to  the  prolongation  of 
the  aisles  of  the  choir  in  a  late  period  of  bad  architecture.  The  south  aisle  is  now 
arrested  at  its  original  point.  The  change  observed  in  the  vaulting  of  the  north 
aisle  tells  its  own  story. 

To  the  Early  Pointed  style  succeeded  in  due  order  that  which  is  termed  the 
Decorated;  and  good  specimens  are  found  of  each  of  its  subdivisions  in  the  geomet- 
rical tracery  of  some  windows  and  the  flowing  tracery  of  others.  The  former  are  in 
the  south  aisle  and  in  the  clerestor}'  of  the  choir,  the  latter  in  the  south  aisle  of  the 
nave  and  in  the  east  aisle  of  the  south  transept.  The  general  impression,  however, 
produced  on  the  e^^e  by  these  two  conspicuous  parts  of  the  cathedral  is  that  of  the 
commanding  presence  of  the  latest  or  Perpendicular  style  of  Gothic  architecture. 
This  arises  from  the  large  clerestory  windows  of  that  date.  Those  of  the  nave  belong 
probabl}'  to  the  reign  of  Henr}'  YII.  Those  of  the  transept  are  earlier  in  date  and 
better  in  form.  It  ought  to  be  added  that  the  great  central  tower  and  the  exquisite 
woodwork  of  the  clioir  belong  to  the  earliest  and  best  part  of  the  Perpendicular 
period.  The  upper  portion  of  the  north  transept,  recently  restored,  is  of  the  same 
general  date. 

The  great  south  transept  is  so  remarkable,  both  historically  and  architecturally, 
that  it  deserves,  and  indeed  requires,  a  separate  mention.  In  size  it  is  as  large  as  the 
choir  and  nearly  as  large  as  the  nave.  This  circumstance  constitutes  it  the  most 
singular  feature  of  Chester  Cathedral ;  and  it  attracts  attention  the  more  because  of 
its  contrast  with  the  diminutive  size  of  the  north  transept.  This  anomaly,  if  we 
may  so  call  it,  probably  arose  in  this  wa}^  that  the  Benedictine  monks,  unable  to 
extend  their  church  to  the  north,  because  the  conventual  buildings  were  there,  pushed 
it  forward  to  the  south,  so  as  to  absorb  the  parish  church  of  St.  Oswald.  In  the  end 
the  parishioners  recoiled  successfully  upon  the  monks,  and  obtained  permission  to  hold 
their  services  within  the  abbey  church  on  the  old  ground.  The  mouldings  of  the 
late  doorway  inserted  in  one  of  the  windows  on  the  south  of  the  transept  combine 
with  other  evidence  to  attest  this  fact.  The  parochial  rights  within  the  cathedral 
continued  till  the  close  of  1880,  and  thus  St.  Oswald's  name  is  still  connected  with 
this  part  of  it ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  association  with  the  good  missionary 
King  of  Northumbria  will  never  be  lost. 


DIGNITARIES. 


BISHOP  JAYNE. 


FRANCIS  JOHN  JAYNE,  D.  D. 

FRANCIS  JOHN  JAYNE,  D.  D.,  the  present  Bisliop  of  Chester,  was  born  January 
I,  1S45.  He  received  his  earU'  education  at  Rugby  School,  after  leaving 
whicli  he  Avent  to  Wadham  College,  Oxford,  there  taking  a  double  first  class 
in  1 868,  becoming  the  same  3-ear  a  Fellow  of  Jesus  College.  He  was  ordained  Priest 
in  1870,  and  for  one  year  after  that  time  was  Curate  of  St.  Clement's,  Oxford. 
He  later  became  Tutor  of  Keble  College,  remaining  there  until  1S79.  In  1S79 
he  was  appointed  Principal  of  Lampeter  College,  and  by  his  unusual  abilit}-  greatly 
increased  its  efficiency.  In  1SS6  Dr.  Gott,  having  been  appointed  Dean  of  Worcester 
Cathedral,  Bishop  Jayne  was  appointed  in  his  place  to  the  important  Vicarage  of 
Leeds  thus  left  vacant.     In   1S89  he  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Chester. 

Although    Chester   is    one  of    the    minor    cathedrals,    it   is    made    more    prominent 
because    of    Bishop   Ja3me's    extended    influence,   and   because    it    is  generall}-   the    first 

cathedral    visited    bj^    the    thousands    of  American   tourists    in   England. 

(215) 


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